


Retribution

by Mist_Over_Water



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-26
Updated: 2012-09-03
Packaged: 2017-11-12 22:30:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mist_Over_Water/pseuds/Mist_Over_Water
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where men and women live in seperate societies, the worst crime to be comitted is to keep a baby of the opposite sex. This is the story of two men and the journey of their first baby</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Between a Frenchman

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter Warnings  
> Rape, bitching out feminists and Thomas Hardy and fucking with the male reproductive system (goes into detail, y'all). The usual.

"No…"

From a society of about two hundred years ago, or so the history books tell one our faithful protagonists, a group of women once formed together to create a group: 'Feminism'; a large group of women of whom agreed the social policies subjugated women, made women worth no more than the dirt that the men owned. Every part of society from religion to the family was created for the sole purpose of keeping the fairer sex in their place. Religion would scorn them for their menstruation and pregnancy, whilst within the family, the women served very little purpose. They would stay home, supposedly happy in their expressive role. Childcare and housework, childcare and housework, day in, day out. Week after week. Month after month. Sexual gratification one of their main duties for their husbands; with only one solution.

"Francis, please, stop!"

Marilyn Frye suggested, the Radical Feminists ate her words in an animalist hunger with the need of freedom. Separatism and political lesbianism. The two ideologies that broke a nation, then two, then three, and before the world could stop the raging oestrogen making its way around the world, the deed was done. The revolution that Marxism had promised, taken place for a cause far greater than that of Communism—. Effecting the world over, and would break every norm and value that had been thousands of years in creating. Men and women forever separated, to never be heard from again. Political lesbianism encouraged, with no way of reproducing.

"No, please, Francis, you're hurting me!"

Two hundred years ago, the revolution ended. The human race nearly found its end with the selfish want of freedom from the female race. Its beliefs a reality, would they be happy now? No longer would they interact with the enemy, with the sex that would often refer to itself as the 'better' or 'stronger'. Science (a higher being? Magic?) took hold of the desperate mammals, as the numbers began to dwindle, and in the last attempt of saving the highest of the food chain, their systems began changing. Would it be worth it? The men could only ask. Was Andrea Dwarkin telling the truth in that "all sex was rape"? Now would the sweeter sex be free of the subordination, of which they were sure they never forced upon them? Would they be free to roam the streets, free from the fear of being forced into sexual intercourse?

If that was the case, then why is it so that our main protagonist had found himself pinned between the Frenchman and a hard place? The rain of the island nation pouring over the two figures, both fully clothed, save for their trousers barely hanging around their legs. The heroine of our tale, Arthur Kirkland, wrapping his legs around Francis Bonnefoy, involuntary movements as he felt himself being stretched far too much. He groaned out in pain, throwing his head back as he lost what he had been savouring for the night of his wedding. The thrusting soft and gentle in an almost mock love as Arthur gripped onto his shoulders; bitten nails desperately attempting to dig in, trying to stop him. "Mon cheri…" The voice now husky, lips rubbing against the ears of the Briton, the barely post-adolescent hairs that were upon his chin tickling his cheek slightly, "You… Are… So tight…" The words were punctuated with thrusts, getting ever deeper, ever quicker.

"Francis—ngh…" Any thought of protest from the boy instantly pushed aside as the taller hit the prostate deep inside of him; flashes of pleasure overwhelmed the horror of what was happening. He could feel his tight ring of muscle bleed; the crimson liquid rolling gently down his thighs, while he barely felt the back of his once white shirt against the wall each time Francis would move the two of them in perfect harmony. "Francis—AH!" The Frenchman had pulled him down onto his cock, now fully sheathed, he continued to pound mercilessly into the virgin hole. "Why? Why? Why?…" He continued asking to air as the rain created a hybrid liquid with his tears; a concoction of which Francis was eager to lick away.

He cackled, allowing hi s tongue to travel over the smaller boys lips, but not asking for entrance, "You are very wet, mon ami. Wet… Tight… Hot." He took his hands from the other boys' backside, and reached down to the others throbbing member; flushed with arousal, and leaking as a way of begging for attention. He wrapped his hands around tightly, pumping harshly in time to his thrusts, "Crier mon nom… Venez pour moi!" The speed of both his motions grew rapid, and primeval instincts coursing through all of his veins, as the pleasure led his mind into an almost shut down, and through the darkness of his clenched eyes, his simplistic state of mind which fulfilled one of his natural urges led him to the light of pure bliss. So close, so close…

Arthur screamed. No longer caring if he bled or done damage to himself as he threw his head into the wall over and over, he screamed in hope that someone in the all-male society would hear him, and rescue him from this horrid reverie of which he was sure he was stuck, where the poet and novelist would write down in his wanton wisdom "where was Arthur's guardian angel?". His muscles spasmed and clenched, knowing of some foreign object that was tearing him apart from the inside; but he cursed his body for the lateness of the reaction. He had already spilled out onto the hands of his attacker, and screamed in the horror of feeling him do the same deep inside of him; filling him to the brim. The softening cock deep inside making him whimper in fear. The two looked at each other, panting as their afterglow took hold, "Francis," The eyes of the English countryside looking empty with fear, as the Frenchman smirked, pushing away the bangs of hair that was stuck to his face through the sweat and rain, "Francis, please. Let me go."

He kissed the flushed face, taking his hands from his cold skin, and watching as he slowly slid to the floor. The boy winced as his abused backside made contact with the wet pavement, barely even noticing the Frenchman pulling himself back into his clothing and leaving. Arthur sat in the barely formed puddle of water, watching his pathetic reflection cry, trying to fathom the events that had taken place in the night. Had not the revolution the teachers told him so much of stopped this? Or would Thomas Hardy's imaginative characters of a society long ago console him a warm fatalistic embrace of "it was meant to be"? He did not move; he ached, the white liquid that was coming from him was burning his very flesh where the taller boy had held him close.

He stood; redressing himself and limping with the fresh, burning pain behind him, he could only make his way to his house, making sure that he did not look behind him for fear of the memories haunting him through the dark streets of which he once called his safe haven: home.

\- - - - - - - - - - 

Our second protagonist's family had moved to the United Kingdom from the United States generations before; after the March of Progresses revolution had proclaimed victory throughout the world, and the two societies were being filtered into which land masses would play host to which of the sexes. Whilst the country once known as USA would house part of the female population, the formerly UK would hold a part of the male population. Unfortunately, however, it had become apparent throughout the ages that the enthusiastic accent had not left. It was not rare, and one may say that the work of Caxton's fifteenth century printing press and Sir Samuel Johnson's first edition of the Oxford English Dictionary in seventeen-fifty-five had gone to waste in the way of standardising the English language; while a lot of people spoke the tongue, many kept the language that had been passed down through the generations—much as Francis took pride in the French connections of his family.

Our heroes name is Alfred F. Jones. Who, while on his eighteenth year to heaven—much like Briton and the Frenchman—enjoyed unknowingly conforming to the stereotypes that citizens of the world had placed upon Americans two hundred years prior. However, as much as he loved to play video games (despite the fact that spending hours staring at a television set had caused him to constantly wear glasses that he despised), and to spend most of the money he made working at the local movie theatre during his lunch hours at school, at the local McDonalds, there was one thing he loved more—although thing being a rather incorrect noun; person. The same person whom he was waiting for in class; a last minute seminar for those sitting a Health exam that same afternoon. The final exam before they had to wait for graduation, and deciding what to do thereafter.

"We are unsure as to what caused it," The monotonous voice droned on—although, to his shrill American accent, any British accent was a slight bore. "But when the numbers decreased to an amount that nearly put us extinct, our bodies adapted to help the survival of our race. While once we needed females to reproduce, this is no longer the case." The professor at the front of the class pulled out the chart, showing two different versions of a person's insides. "All men have the ability to carry children. At the same time, all men have the ability to create children. Although we do not… Hm, 'menstruate' like women used to, whenever penetrated, man can take the sperm of another man, and create a baby! Now—"

The door swung open, and Arthur limped in, taking his seat next to Alfred, of whom was excitedly fidgeting in his seat. "Sorry I'm late," He almost mumbled to the professor, before looking to his lover of eighteen months, "Sorry. I must have slept through my alarm." There was no signs of affection in his words like Alfred was used to, which increased his worry for the shorter boy. Wanting to ask why he was limping as badly as he was; needless to say, Arthur was happy to be in the middle of a lecture, ensuring that his boyfriend would not be able to question the suspicious limp he was sporting. Instead, he looked to the teacher and began taking notes.

"Where was I?" Mr. Van Dis paused for a moment, taking his glasses off and pinching the bridge of his nose in concentration, "Ah! Yes. There are many tell-tale signs that show that you have conceived; morning sickness, of course, although inappropriately named. When I was expecting, I was vomiting left, right and centre! Ah, but it's worth it—Damn. Digressed again. Tell me when I do that, won't you? Anyway, other symptoms of pregnancy are weight gain, and particularly the widening of the hips; women had particularly wide hips centuries ago to ensure that they could safely carry babies, and this trait has been passed down to expecting males. It is also said to be done to accommodate the changing of the reproductive system, but we'll get to that a bit later."

Arthur looked to the teacher as he shuffled papers; probably notes of what the class had wanted to go over before they entered their exam, however, as he looked down, he saw a note written in the chicken like scratching. The barely knowledgeable handwriting of his boyfriend, reading: 'i saw u limpin u k'. Kirkland managed to push through the infuriating homophonic representation and use of non-standard grammar to smile at the care Jones showed him, just shook his head and held hands with the honey-blonde under the table, squeezing and stroking it in hopes to silently convey his meaning of being fine. The guilt took hold somewhat, however, and he silently asked himself if Alfred should ever find out about Francis. He mentally scolded himself. No. Nothing was to come of it, and if Alfred and he ever did sleep together, and the other boy questioned why he was not as tight as he would imagined, then the truth would come out.

"Other symptoms include increasing appetite, particularly craving foods of which you did not have an interest in before. Mood swings are another big give away; one moment you may be clinically depressed and the next out of control horny. If you—somehow—miss these symptoms, then very late in the pregnancy, you will notice an increase in the size of your chest, and darkening of the nipples. Why? The body begins creating milk, and also starts readying these 'breasts' for feeding." He walked around the front of his class, noticing the agitated shuffling in their seats; particularly that of Arthur Kirkland—although, he always did get nervous before an examination. "I see that we're running out of time, is there any questions?"

"Ve~!" The Italian student raised his hand, and with the permission granted to speak, he continued, "Yeah, um, how do we birthing?"

Mr. Van Dis chuckled, seeing more moving around within the seats. Students always hated the explanation; whether it be due to them imagining it, or just because of the charts and pictures he liked to show them—you know, just for them to get the real effect of what birthing was like, not because he was incredibly proud of himself for putting up with such pain. He motioned to the diagrams of the human bodies, "Digestive [he pointed to the large intestines] and reproductive [he pointed to the womb]. Two elements of the body which end in the same place [after watching the squirming of pain from his students, he pointed to the rectum]. About a week before birth, the body begins preparing for the main event. Everything is cleared, you'll lose your appetite—nice fun fact, if you do force yourself to eat, your body will just reject it, and no one wants that. The nesting stage begins, where constant baby-proofing and laying about. Then labour. The waters breaks, waiting to dilate, and finally, the walls of muscle contract, you push and you have your baby!"

'at least we dont c a pic 2day huh artie'.

Arthur chuckled, looking to his boyfriend, and could not help but smile. As the class was being dismissed to the examination hall, he kissed those chapped lips, taking in the feel and scent of being so close to the American. "Good luck," He murmured, holding his hands tightly, they stood, and followed the crowd of adolescents to the room in which their fate would be decided, just before entering, they exchanged an embrace. The sound of Alfred's beating heart soothing any worries about the night before in almost an instant—and any worries about having to sit on his sore arse for two hours straight. They pulled away, and shared a quick kiss, "You're still taking me to prom this weekend, right?"

Alfred winked, "I wouldn't miss it for the world."


	2. The Hawthorn Effect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings  
> USxUK smut (around two pages non-stop. You're welcome) and vomit inducing fluff (you're also welcome). Also done this watching an Amnesia play through, so I was alternating between pissing myself out of fear and writing—that's my excuse for if something doesn't make sense xD

' _Heart beats fast, colours and promises_ …'

The American tradition had spread across to their transatlantic cousins generations ago, and although it was generally a more well known practice for the female of their last year of high school, the custom that they had entitled 'Senior Prom' had carried on through the all-male society. Wallflowers grew from the sides of the venue, generally with one of their feet planted against the solid division from the room to the outside; drinks faithfully in their hands. Two hundred years ago, the citizens would be in divided minds about such an event. Feminists would say that the dance to celebrate classmate's achievements was just a way of men getting an opportunity to subjugate women in a theory that "all sex is rape". While men would say that it was indeed a place where they would lose their virginities, in a respectful manner. Stopping if ever their date presented signs of discomfort.

' _How to be brave, how can I love when I'm afraid to fall_ …'

Arthur was pleased that the pain Francis had inflicted that night little less than a week ago had subsided; though there was still a slight discomfort when he sat down. He pushed his head against the soft chest in front of him, feeling the back of a black suit with his left hand, whilst his right was held gently, being comforted with the slight stroke from his lovers thumb. Although he knew he should have been happy with their current situation, he could not help but think about what Alfred had planned after. Would he be able to tell that the night that would forever be cast in their memories as their first time would be based on a lie? A part of him knew to tell Alfred, but at the same time, he found himself being locked in eye contact with Francis the majority of the night. The smirk playing about his lips making him too aware that Alfred would live with the falsehood that he held Arthur's virginity.

' _Watching you stand alone, all of my doubt suddenly goes away somehow_ …'

He thought about that word as he closed his eyes, listening to the music, which was barely able to overpower the heartbeat of the taller, yet slightly younger boy. The dictionary defined it as being the state of which a person had never experienced a sexual encounter; and where someone had been pure and innocent. He felt his heart and stomach drop at the fact that he was no longer a virgin; that he had had it torn from him unwillingly. At the same time, his mother had always told him that losing your virginity was more than just the act of penetration. Losing your virginity could only happen if you had enjoyed the act; with someone that you loved. I came though; doesn't that mean I enjoyed it?

' _One step closer_ …'

The couple continued to sway in time with the music; a slow cliché rhythm that the elders of the room rolled their eyes that. He felt eyes burning on his back; eyes that belonged to a long-haired Frenchman whom he was trying to ignore the presence of. He tried concentrating on the sweet whisperings of the lips above him that were teasing the roots of his hair, but somehow managed to concentrate solely on Francis. The memories that burned with the pain of being held against the wall, penetrated over and over again—back then, he tried to imagine it was Alfred mouthing at his neck, feeling over smooth skin. But the slight groaning to the deity whom was sure not to exist was in a foreign language; not one of which was upon his lovers tongue.

' _I have died everyday waiting for you, darling don't be afraid I have loved you for a thousand years, I will love you for a thousand more_ …"

They made a full circle again, with green eyes meeting blue; but not the darker cobalt of which he was looking for. The owner of the light oceans he was gazing into sported the blond hair to his shoulders, the slight fluff on his chin giving him a more masculine appearance. He was growing as a wallflower, although the other boys in the hall were eyeing him in interest; his eyes were squarely set on Arthur. He squeezed his eyes shut, burying his face into the suit and inhaled the scent that made up what would one day be home. A comforting scent, the comforting warmth. No rain. No being taken against his will. He was safe. It was prom, not that night. He pulled away slightly, stealing a kiss from the American. "What was that for?" Alfred questioned, smirking slightly.

"Just letting you know I love you." He held the others hand, "Want to go get a drink?"

Alfred just laughed, taking his hands again, "Can't we just dance for a bit longer before you get completely hammered?" It was times like this, where he held the small form closely, he remembered how much he loved everything about Kirkland. From the wall that he put up around himself in order to keep people away (of which he had affectionately called him upon saying "to see who loves you enough to break through, huh?" to which Arthur had scoffed and replied, "no, git, to keep people out"), his looks and when he warmed up to certain individuals how honestly adorable he could be. They danced in this position for a short while, Alfred remembering nights when they had fallen asleep in each other's embrace, where he would indulge himself in the sight of those facial muscles that were generally tense being soft; those overgrown eyebrows for once not furrowed. He wanted to glance down to look at them now, but his face was pushed against his chest.

' _Time stands still, beauty in all he is_ …'

He smiled against the dark blond hair, taking in the scent that he found himself at times yearning for, the scent of Arthur Kirkland that he knew so well, and stroked his back under the black jacket that he was wearing. He thought back to all those years ago when they had first met. Back at the beginning of high school where neither of them knew anyone, and the world was scary. In English class, where they were forced to work together, trying to figure out the meanings of the writings of poet Sir Alfred Tennyson (where the American had taken great amusement in the fact that the author they were studying shared his name—Arthur had just shook his head and rolled his eyes). Since that lesson, they had become friends, and spent most of their days together.

Then came the day in their second year of high school; rumours had been flying around about the two, although, what would be expected of the institution that was filled to the brim with adolescent boys who were fuelled with testosterone to jump to conclusions. They had managed to remain unknown to Arthur, who spent most of his time with his nose in a book, ignoring the existence of the world outside of him, but Alfred was too aware, and spent the majority of his school day denying these accusations of being in a relationship with his best friend, despite the thoughts that crossed through his mind at night; or sometimes in the morning.

Although he spent his days fighting these accusations, each part of his thoughts screamed that they should be together. Arthur Kirkland was an almost perfect specimen of a boy, who would probably grow into an impeccable man. If it was not for a certain clique in their physical education talking too loudly about what the two of them had supposedly done, then it would have remained a secret. That misunderstanding had led to the argument in the locker room whilst the others had gone to partake in the sports they were forced by the Education Board to join in with. If not for that misunderstanding… Alfred never would have yelled his feelings for the shorter boy, who would stand in silence. As Alfred was about to walk away, Arthur had grabbed his hand, pulled him close and whilst standing on tip-toes, pushed their lips together. It was an awkward first kiss to say the least; they both just stood, doing nothing but staring into each other's blurry eyes. Their noses so close to colliding and their lips pursed too much; an example of the most imperfect of the perfect kisses.

They smiled awkwardly as they pulled apart, and joined the rest of their class hand in hand, shy smiles upon their faces as their classmates conversed among themselves. And each year on that date, they had celebrated and reminisced about such an awkward kiss.

' _I will be brave, will not let anything take away what's standing in front of me_ …'

They had come a long way since that day; they had perfected the art of kissing, and everyone knew that there was no Alfred without Arthur, no Arthur without Alfred; sitting beside each other in each of their classes, which they chose to ensure their timetables would be identical (well, Alfred chose, he realised with a grin). They knew that it was just a waiting game now they had left school until the postman would deliver letters to the house of Kirkland-Jones. His hands travelled down to those small hips, imagining seeing them widening as his body prepared for the foetus inside of him to grow into a baby.

He moved his face down to the shoulder of Arthur, kissing it slightly, grazing it gently with his teeth as he lusted that the flat stomach pressing against him would be larger. Their son growing inside; calling his lover home. Where Alfred would go to work to make money for the nursery next to their room, and spend their weekends working on, preparing for the arrival of little Alfred Jr. and spending the evenings carefully washing him in the bathtub; paying special attention to his extended middle as the life inside kicked its greeting at the sound and feel of his father. A smirk twitched onto his lips as he imagined making love to a very pregnant man—and making love to Arthur in general. Trying to find a position that would work before Arthur would offer to ride him instead, and from his position, he would be able to see everything. See his stomach moving with each bounce, feel the kicking against both of them, and play with those overly-sensitive nipples as they prepared to feed Alfred Jr.

Less devious thoughts did run through his mind; it was no secret that Arthur had a love for embroidery, and so wondered if their child's room would be decorated with the sewed patterns that his husband had slaved over, or would he spend his nights knitting clothes for the small baby? Would Alfred be permitted to read to the baby, and form an unspeakable bond through layers of skin, fat and womb? And when it was time for the child to be born, would Arthur let him hold his hand, and give words of encouragement as he pushed and yelled through the night before finally bringing the most loved and most beautiful infant into the world full of subjugated hatred and conflict? His breath hitched and his heart paused momentarily for the thought of seeing their son for the first time; Alfred's hair and looks, but Arthur's eyebrows dominating his features, while his mother's evasive attitude would be his most infamous attribute.

' _Every breath, every hour, has come to this; one step closer_ …'

Sometimes though, biology would betray the gender neutral society; sometimes, the baby would be of an opposite sex, and at birth, the parents would be given half an hour to bid farewell to their child, before it was taken to their adoptive parents in the female society an ocean away. His stomach lurched at the thought, threatening to stop moving to try and get rid of any idea that that was even possible. He wished that there would be the choice of keeping her; hiding her from the world, home schooling her, and dressing her in masculine clothes. Although, would the consequences be worth it? Would it be worth the fate of capital punishment?

Or would it be a punishment enough, failing to reproduce correctly to grow attached to the baby and have to say goodbye to her?

' _I have died everyday waiting for you, darling don't be afraid I have loved you for a thousand years; I'll love you for a thousand more_ …'

Ironic, really. The social policies that the Feminists put forward after the successful March of Progress in order to stop oppression of women, and instead ended up oppressing every social actor; but as long as the women were away from men, it was a perfect life. Although many had tried to stop this ideology, this indoctrination, there was little that could get through to their leaders, and before any revolution could be upheld, they had grown use to the way of life. No one knew who to fight anymore, and so just stayed in their place. And so for two hundred years, whenever a baby of the opposite gender had been born, the parents were forced by punishment of death to give it up.

' _And all along I believed I would find you_ …'

"Okay," Arthur pulled away, patting his hands on Alfred's chest, "I think we've danced enough, can we please proceed to get utterly pissed now?"

His only reply was to be kissed; an open mouthed kiss where Arthur melted into his arms, and tried his best for them to become one. Hoping that they could slink away into the shadows and stay there forever, away from civilisation, and away from other people that he hated so much; to live in splendid isolation with Alfred. Alfred, whom knew how to make him moan ever so quietly with the tongue that was probing the inside of his mouth, the appendage that seemed to know every area of Arthur's skin they had allowed to be touched and caressed by one another so far in their relationship. The two pulled away eventually though, allowing Arthur to have his wish of being inebriated fulfilled.

' _Times has brought your heart to me, I have loved you for a thousand years, I'll love you for a thousand more_ …'

\- - - - - - - - 

They did end up drinking. A whole lot in fact. Arthur found himself hanging off of Alfred as they attempted to continue dancing; Jones being blissful unaware of Bonnefoy's vision never leaving the form of Kirkland. The more the staring intensified however, the more intense his gaze became. Alfred laughed, catching his boyfriend by the elbows as he nearly fell to the ground again; tripping over his own feet as he tried to maintain the intimacy that can only be found in dancing with one's partner. "Dude, you need to go sit down," Alfred laughed, holding the small frame close to him; which in turn pressed the side of his head against the chest and glared once more, before being led to the seats that outlined the wall; just in front of the wallflowers.

"Piss off, you wanker!" Arthur yelled as the two were in front of Francis—coincidentally, the only two seats that were not being taken up by the students of the high school. He pushed his way through people and furniture to the holder of his innocence. "You think you can fuck with me! How about we take it outside, you tosser! Been staring at me all night—I'm not alone now! What the fuck do you think you're going to do this time, huh?" He grabbed the jacket and pulled him close, "Gonna do it again? I dare you. It'll be the last thing you ever do." He felt himself being pulled away by two strong arms about his waist, but still tried his hardest to stay attached to the Frenchman, but his attempts were in vain as his fingers slipped and he found himself over the tall teens shoulder and carried out of the room.

"Artie, what's wrong?" Alfred asked, placing his boyfriend onto the toilet when they had entered the bathroom, he knelt down in front of him (although, he would later regret it as he thought about the amount of germs that may have been present on the floor), and began running a hand through the darker blond and trying to see through his thick drunken aura and into the deeper meaning behind his actions. He knew that Arthur and Francis never had gotten along, but never had they even come to verbal blows. Let alone threatening to physically injure the other. "Arthur, listen to me." They looked into each other for a moment, "You have to tell me what happened between the two of you."

Something snapped inside of Arthur that night. All of the restraint that he had shown when Alfred attempted to start a more intimate relationship left in an instant. What was the use? He was tainted. He was a house bought and enjoyed, robes bought and worn; not what Alfred had wanted, but now his fear of being penetrated had gone initially, what was the point in waiting for their wedding night? Instead he leaned down, cupping that slightly chubby face in his hands and kissed. Smooth lips met chapped; no tongues, no fighting for dominance, just a sweet and tender kiss. Alfred was the one to pull away slightly and make the transition into an open-mouthed kiss. Just their breath mingling with each other's mouths as they closed and pulled away slightly before continuing the cycle again.

The dynamics of their relationship were clear; although they were not sexual, whenever they talked about their future, it was obvious to see what roles they would play. Both going out to work, but Arthur agreed that he was happy to be a mother to their children; be the one to carry out what the feminists once called a 'dual burden'; where they would both go out to work as society expected, then come home to be a wife and mother. Did they not realise that no matter what the circumstances, whether in a same sex relationship or a heterosexual one, there would always be the same dynamics. Children would always need to be socialised, and families would always need to eat. However, I digress; the two of them had expected that whilst it would not be rare to share the roles of 'topping' and 'bottoming', there would be a more definite appeal to Mr Jones being the one of whom would be more dominant in their love making.

Arthur allowed his hand to travel to the buttons of the tuxedo suit, pulling away from those imperfect, damaged, lips that he knew how to use so well, to look at his shaking hands fiddling with the buttons. After a moment of failing to get them undone, Alfred just chuckled, "Let me…" He went back to kissing, licking those suave lips (how does he manage to keep them so awesomely smooth!). He closed his eyes, slipping his tongue gently into the others mouth; caressing the others, and hitting all of the spots he had gotten to know over the years. Though there was something different about it now; somehow knowing that it where it was leading to made it so much more intense. Somehow knowing that they were going to lose their innocence to one another in this bathroom was forcing moans of pleasure from the two.

"Keep our clothes on." Arthur mumbled during a slight break in their caressing, his hand going from the side of Alfred's face the flies of his trousers; where a half-erect member was pressing against the zipper. He pulled it down slowly, watching the bulge in his boxers emerge, biting his lip in anxiety. He tried to remember that it was someone he trusted doing this, and not Francis, as his imagination kept telling him, as he too was slowly becoming free from his confines. Alfred pulled away from the lips and kissed down to the others chin, worshiping every inch of skin that was on show. Soft kisses over the side of his neck, biting down gently as a hand wormed its way inside the dress shirt, feeling for the flat breasts that he had become accustomed to being felt when they found themselves lost in the moment. Arthur opened the shirt for his better half, and moaned through an alcohol fuelled haze as his chest was attacked.

Alfred chuckled slightly, latching onto one of the dark nipples and sucking slightly; gently tugging, while he lifted his other hand to rub the palm over the other and mimicking the actions, "Alfie," He whispered as the mouth and hand of the said male switched places; his voice slipping into a feminine groan. The touches worked their way down to the stomach that would one day home their own children; tongue diving into the umbilicus before pulling down the boxer shorts quickly like a child on Christmas, but he was distracted by Arthur speaking again. "Alfred, do you have everything? Lube? Condoms?"

Alfred smirked; the same smirk that he had always pulled after he had been drinking as he threw his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small bottle of the lubricant, and freed Arthur from his underwear; pulling him down slightly on the seat of the toilet spreading thin legs apart in order to set his sights on the prize, he could see Arthur's panicked expression, and he realised that in his haste to get read and excitement of what was going to happen, he had forgotten to buy a packet of condoms. "Babe—" yet another way of showing the fact that he was intoxicated, although not as much as his boyfriend was; 'babe' was one pet name that he only used when equipped with Dutch courage, knowing that Arthur hated it "—Don't worry so much. I'll pull out when I'm about to cum, yeah? Don't worry about it." He kissed the forehead of the small, shaking teenager and opened the bottle; slicking up his three middle fingers.

"Promise me," Arthur pulled Alfred's head up so that they could continue pushing their lips together, wrapping his arms around his neck, and legs around his waist, "Promise me you'll pull out. I trust you." Alfred nodded in confirmation; his right hand pushing away fleshy globes that were stopping getting to the puckered entrance, before running his index finger down the crease of his backside. The pad of his finger felt the flesh, and gently pushed through the tight ring of muscle, watching for any signs of discomfort appearing on his boyfriends expressions—he did wince, but Alfred was sure that he felt no pain. He kept kissing, alternating between the lips, the face and chest as he pushed through to the knuckles, taking in the sensation of his partner's insides clenching around. Although, he noticed that there was not near the amount of the pressure that he had imagined. He just shrugged, and began moving it out and then back in.

All Arthur could think was that it felt better, a lot better, than being taken dryly and unprepared, and although he hated himself for thinking, Alfred was reasonably… Smaller than Francis. He breathed in deeply, exhaling slowly, hoping that it would relax himself enough. He smiled to Alfred, making it known that he was ready for the next finger, and he received what he wanted. Alfred pushed a second wet finger inside, and curled once more pushed through to the knuckles, grimacing at the sensation of the muscles being pulled away to accommodate for the oncoming invasion. He began to scissor his fingers, hearing Arthur gasping in pain however made him think twice about participating in the tradition of prom night. He bit his lip in guilt and tried to remember all he had read up about, that secret spot inside men that would make him feel amazing. He poked and prodded in all angles he could get his fingers to move in such a compressed space. He stretched his fingers as far as they could go, and watched for any signs of pleasure being sent throughout his body; but it was only when the two intrusions were curled upwards that his back arched and his expressions twisted into one where pain and pleasure met in a strange spectrum; even more so when the third finger was added.

Alfred did momentarily wonder whether his member was going to be okay in such a tight heat, but each moan that Arthur threw forward after having his prostrate being struck sent pleasurable shudders of anticipation straight to his cock. He continued to pull out his fingers slightly before pushing back in, making sure to hit that secret spot; but as Arthur began to push back down against the intruding digits Alfred pulled away, chuckling at the groan of disappointment. Under watchful green eyes, he marinated himself with the clear liquid, and placed himself at the quivering entrance. Upon noticing the shaking form of his lover, Alfred held both of the small hands, and kissed the chest gently, taking in the feeling of the muscle beating frantically against the bone-prison. "I'll go slowly, just tell me if it hurts, okay?" Arthur nodded, and gritted his teeth as he felt the head of the length being pushed inside.

Although he breathed in deeply, Kirkland's mind went back to that faithful night in the rain, against the building. There was no sharp burning sensation ripping through each molecule of his body; only the slight pain as Alfred pushed his hips forward, and the feeling of the soft dress shirt against his back, and not the uneven scratching of the structure. He bit his lip harder as his chest was played with again to distract him from the pain; however, the attempts were futile. All he could think about was the intrusion slowly entering him, and the Frenchman who had shown him and his body no mercy. The guilt made the discomfort amplified, and he half thought about allowing the tears to fall and sobbing to Alfred the truth; and beg to stop, to never make this step, to forever take a vow of chastity in their relationship. However, as he felt himself being filled to the hilt, he opened his eyes to stare into those blue eyes that he found himself knowing better than any image he had come across in his eighteen years.

There was a moment of silence, with just the world spinning on its axis around them as they forgot where they were, forgot the risks that anyone could hear them and in their drunken haze not caring that at the moment, timing would mean everything. They were still; but as Arthur's muscles clenched and relaxed as they got used to the feeling of another man's member inside of it, a subconscious hint that it was ready for movement—regardless of the mental state of its owner. Alfred kissed those lips again, saying gently to them, "I'm gonna move now, 'kay?" With a nod in reply, he did so. Pulling back slightly, and pushing forward; their bodies sliding over one another in perfect harmony. For a moment, Alfred's mind entered a state of cliché where he thought that maybe—just maybe—he had been created to fit perfectly in this velvet tunnel.

Arthur's eyes clamped shut; as soon as the sot and slow rhythm began, each time he looked to the boy he was sure to be his soul mate, he saw Francis. It was him pulling his legs apart and toward his shoulders, trying to get deeper. It was him who was grunting ever so quietly, either from concentration, pleasure or forcefulness as the thrusts grew harder in an attempt to find that ball of nerves, the Briton was never quite sure. Alfred knew that he had found it however, when the man below him arched his back and let out a small cry, proclaiming that he should go faster, should go harder, should do anything to make sure that the feeling never ended. Alfred gripped his hips, holding him in place as he pounded over and over; pulling back until just the tip was in the tight heat, before delving back in, feeling even more intoxicated as he drank in the sounds his lover emanated from the back of his throat, eyes and head rolling back in pure bliss as he tried to find something to grip onto before just opting for the alternative of digging his nails into the material that stopped him from feeling the soft skin of the American underneath. Wrapping his arms legs around the others waist, he could not help but praise him as a God.

Alfred continued thrusting, increasing his speed and intensity; the sound of skin on skin, the slight squelching sounds of the lubricant being pushed around inside of the small hole echoed around the bathroom but still relentlessly pushing in and out until the hardness pressing into his stomach was becoming a nuisance, and he forced himself to let go of his hip with his right hand, and stroke the length relentlessly in time with his thrusts. "I- Bloody hell, Alfred!" Arthur breathlessly cried, "I'm gonna—" Before he could finish, the slit in his tip was toyed with simultaneously with a piece of skin under the head, making himself thrust into the hand as he arched his back with a strangled cry and threw his head back; smacking his head on the tank of the toilet as he came with a cry. Alfred collected the stream of white ribbon in his hand, and lost himself as Arthur's body tensed; and the muscles around him clenched, almost holding him in place as he sheathed himself in a now unconscious Arthur, and found his release.

It was only when he was looking to his hand, feeling the stickiness of his boyfriends fluids that he realised the conversation they had had years ago when they had first started dating, and although he was drunk enough to make his decision, he was sober enough to regret his actions as he looked down to the peaceful face, stuck in an almost lifeless afterglow. Arthur's religious upbringing would commend him for the events of the night, and thus he would himself, yet why was it so easy to change his mind? He had said—oh so long ago—that under no circumstance did he want to lose his virginity before the two had married (at which time, Alfred had gotten down on one knee to propose, which only ended with him waking with a bruise the next day).


	3. Urban Mythology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which mpreg is introduced.

" _You have one new message, received today at three-oh-four AM._ "

" _Hey, Artie? Just to let you know you knocked yourself out—haha!—sorry, but that's hilarious! I took you back home though, so you're probably gonna wake up at home with your mom and dad yelling at ya or somethin', with a huge hangover. I just wanted to cheer you up, 'cause your parents are more than likely going to get ya before you get ya phone. So, don't forget I love you and," his voice dipped, dripping with lust; tainted with animalistic qualities that he had discovered the night before, "Thank you for last night. You felt so fuckin' amazin', Artie. Ev'rythin' just… I can't stop thinkin' about it… I would go into detail, but y'know, it's probably too early for you to be listening to details about your ass, huh?" An awkward laugh, followed by an equally stale silence, "Well, I'm gonna get to bed. I cleaned ev'rythin' off and outta ya so be sure to come see me once ya ready for the day! Love ya!_ "

\- - - - - - - 

Arthur stared at the white door of his boyfriends house, where he had stormed to after waking and immediately listening to the voicemail message left to him on his mobile telephone; he hoped—prayed—that the thick-skulled boy was just confusing phrases again, but he knew that this would be the one time that Alfred meant everything that he had said. With an angrily clenched fist, he practically punched the door, not stopping until he saw the infuriating cowlick of blond hair stick out from beyond the plastic obstruction. "Oh, hey, Artie!" He smiled, stepping aside, "Come on in!" Arthur done so; pushing past and immediately running up the stairs to the bedroom that smelt so much like that damned fast food which he wished would hurry up and clog the other teen's arteries. As soon as he sat down on the standard sized bed, the door was closed, and Alfred stood silently, watching and listening to the erratic breathing, "Hey, sup?"

"'Out of me'?" Arthur snapped, resisting the urge to throttle his lover, and instead glaring at him with the worst of the scowls he could muster, "You cleaned what out of me, Alfred F. Jones? You better think fast. If it's cum, I'll personally bite your damned dick off, and if it's anything but, I'm going to shove the nearest sharp object into you and make you keep it there as long as you live!" Alfred was silent, noting the green eyes that were seemingly begging him to tell him something, tell him that his conclusions were a lie. Anything. He just shrugged, and the silence took hold; trying not to think about the locker room when they were both in their second year of high school. Both inexperienced and both crushing on each other unknowingly.

"I dunno what ya want me to say…"

Arthur's eyes widened; no longer questioning, no more hatred embedded in those orbs, and instead, an emotion akin to pure terror took over his senses as he fell against the bed, and held the pillow tight. "Oh God," He whimpered, allowing the tears of anger and fear to fall against the material, ignoring when the bed dipped and groaned at the extra weight, "Alfred, seriously? I trusted you, you promised me. I don't have enough money to buy a morning after pill! And I can't exactly ask to borrow money from my parents; they'd probably put me up for some kind of exorcism if they knew I let you fuck me!" Alfred lay down on the bed with him, wrapping his arms around the small middle, "And if we asked your parents, they'd more than likely tell my mum and dad… Please, you idiot, please tell me you have some money…"

Jones absent-mindedly rubbed the stomach with the thoughts of parenthood that cascaded through his imagination the night before. "I don't have any… 'M sorry. Anythin' I got was spent on the prom, and, well… Preparations." He kissed the back of Arthur's neck, and in turn pressed his lips behind his ear in an attempt of calming him down, "Look, it's not definitely going to knock ya up is it? Remember class? Mr Van Dis? It's extremely rare for people to get pregnant on their first time." Arthur did not reply, and Alfred's hands worked their way to the smaller boy's thighs, rubbing in small circles, "I love ya, Arthur Kirkland. I truly do, I'm sorry I didn't pull out. I'm sorry I broke my promise. If ya hate me, I'll understand why, and if ya wanna break up with me, I won't beg for ya back—"

"I have every reason to hate you, every reason to wish to break up with you!" Arthur sat up, pushing the soft material onto the chubby middle of his boyfriend, "What if we do have a baby? That 'fact' you said? That was a myth. And the way you were rubbing me there… You- You planned to do this! Just forget about the fact that I want to go to university, ignore the fact that I want to be a doctor to make sure that we have enough money. Ignore that this is not the wrong time to start a family! With your dead-end job at the cinema—which you'll never do better than—we don't have enough money!" He began hitting at the pillow in order to punctuate exclamative clauses, "And the church! What're they going to say! It'll ruin my family! The most religious family in town, and I'll have a bastard child!"

Alfred hugged him; saying nothing, and instead just hugging him. Trying to silently comfort him, hoping that he could pour more emotion into the actions than his vocabulary. The small frame was shaking against him, trying to convey a feeling of comfort, although he never got a reply, and instead, in an attempt to cheer Arthur up, changed the conversations course somewhat, "Hey, how you feelin'? 'Cause I know ya might've been in some pain. Mr Van Dis said that the first time is painful and would cause a limp for a few days after. But… You seem fine." He noticed the way Arthur tensed slightly, and pulled away, his lips being tugged back into a smirk, "Artie," he began in a sing-song tone, "Have you got something to tell me?"

Arthur's mind shut down momentarily, as the feeling of Francis' hands on his legs, pulling them apart and pounding relentlessly inside making him nearly fall down, but he managed to keep himself up. 'No,' was all he could think, 'No, damn it! Not now, please not now. Al, please. I'm not ready—!"

"You've been usin' toys on yaself?" He grinned, holding the flushed and tear stained face tightly, "I thought you weren't as tight as my friends talked about their boyfriends, but don't worry. I think it's pretty hot." He winked, earning himself being pushed onto the bed, and having Arthur straddling over his hips. "Oh, so you gonna give me a show?" He let his hands rest on the narrow hips, "Or you gonna ride me, that'd be sexy as—" He was cut off as Arthur covered his head with the pillow, and pushed down on it slightly, from below it, Alfred just laughed, "Erotic asphyxiation? My God, Arthur! I've woken somethin' up? You kinky bastard!"

Arthur growled, pulling the pillow away and leaning down to rest his lips on the others jawline, "I really hate you, idiot."


	4. Retribution - Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Challenging religion

"I think I understand what my parents see in religion…"

Alfred stood at the back of the church, allowing Arthur's sombre tone echo from the stone walls and floor, reaching the ceiling, as if trying to find some higher (stronger) being for help, but ultimately failed in its quest as all it came across was the tall roof. He watched the Briton's shoulders as they heaved and shuddered; he could barely see him, however, through the darkness of the place of worship. He dared not approach any nearer as the sobs became audible, and instead stood with his hands in his pockets. He tried to find the right words to say, but he found himself at a loss each time. In the end, he only managed to croak from his almost dry throat, "Artie, I- I'm sorry—"

"See, religion… It's a guideline." He looked up to the altar in front of the pews that he was forced to sit upon each Sunday, and now found himself voluntarily seeking refuge in; he hoped that staring at the Cross that stood upon the dark material would provide him for answers—and how he prayed for some answers, some guidance—but ultimately failed. Just the silence around them, a stale silence which intermingled with the stench of two-hundred year old pages of the precious bible the Kirkland residence listened to once a week. "It's not telling you what to do, it's… Giving advice. If you do good things, the things that God wants you to do, then, y'know, you'll lead yourself to good things. It's not God who does this for you. And if you do bad things, then… You bring it on yourself. You face your own consequences." He placed a hand on his stomach, pushing on it; almost as if it was going to change the fact that the thing Alfred put in him would disappear, "I pray every night. Go to church. I'm a law abiding citizen. I'm—well, was—sexually repressed. I only drank one time; I've only had sex once! What have I done Alfred! How many sins have you committed!" As his voice was raised, the more tears fell. He was practically sobbing as he finally managed to choke out a small: "Am I really that bad of a person?"

Alfred practically ran up the aisle, feeling as though his heart would tear in two at the anguish and pain evident in the mother of his child's voice. As soon as he got to Arthur he knelt on the floor, taking both hands and looking earnestly into the closed green eyes of the Brit, "Arthur… Please. Look at me." He waited a moment; a second in time where he ran his thumbs over the creases of his fingers, feeling the bones that made up his being, until Arthur finally found the courage to look to his lover. "Arthur, 'm sorry. Ya don' deserve this. An'… I should apologise. I guess He's punishin' me for ev'rythin' I done wrong." He nestled between the thin legs, and nuzzled his face into the stomach of his boyfriend. "I know that ya don' wan' this, but… This is what I wan'ed for us. This lil' guy, a house… An' a dog."

"So you did plan on getting me pregnant."

"No!" Alfred sat up, still sitting between those legs on his knees, pale hands in his own. "I promise ya, I was gonna pull out, it's jus'… Drinkin' an' pretty crap contraception don' mix well!" He laughed, but was met with a red, tear stained face. He bit his lip, looking away and bidding a silent farewell to his life as Alfred F. Kirkland-Jones, whom had a son and lived on the outskirts of the small town farewell, barely being able to keep the molten liquid falling down his own face. "If- if he really makes ya that unhappy," he looked back down to the stomach before him, shocking even Arthur with such an intense glare, as he apologised mentally to the foetus that could not hear him for what he was about to say, "I'll- I'll go with ya. T' the doctors, t' the hospital, t' the clinic and hold ya hand through it all." Seeing the others eyebrows furrow in confusion, he concluded, "I guess, if ya wanna be a doctor, ya gonna wanna abort 'im—"

The slap echoed around the house of God. Alfred grunted and in pain and shock upon impact and fell backwards onto his backside, whilst Arthur stood, shaking in anger. "How dare you," he growled through clenched teeth, pointing a trembling, accusing finger to Jones, "In such a holy place, where I've come to apologise for all I've done… You… You even think about convincing me to commit the worst of all sins. Murder." He began to walk toward the door, despite the pleas emanating from the teenager behind him to stop; ignoring the voice, he continued himself to talk. "It's not murdering anyone, however, but my own flesh and blood! My own son!" He opened the door, but as he was about to exit, he turned to look at Alfred as he stood, looking bemused by the altar. "Alfred F. Jones. Leave me alone. Until… Until I'm ready to talk to you again."

"So, he's a month pregnant?" Matthew Williams asked, sitting in Alfred's bedroom, watching as the American seemed to be attempting to consume his own weight in vanilla ice cream. "And… You said what exactly? Knowing that he was religious?" He shook his head, particularly after several minutes of no verbal reply only that of Alfred seemingly furiously shovelling spoonful after spoonful into what was often — affectionately, of course — called "the black hole where his mouth should be". "It might just be the shock. You know, he only found out today, and… He loves you… Maybe he wants to have children with you. Just family, age, money… A lot of things are going through his mind right now. Give him time, and… You're not even listening."

"I am," Alfred began—although Matthew did question the legitimacy of that statement, the loud spoken 'fool' in front of him was often obnoxious enough to zone out everything his own soft voice had come out with (or… Everyone did, but I digress)—his mouth full of the sweet, white treat, "He was going on about sinning, what could I say? I ain' religious, Mattie! I don' know what he's allowed to do! If I knew he wouldn' have a bitch fit, I'd tell him that it's a load'a shit! He was the one to come onto me at prom, anyways! It's not like I forced myself onto him!" He groaned, putting down the tub as he felt the dull ache of his temples beginning to set in, both from the frozen dessert and the stress from trying to figure out the events of the unborn child in his boyfriends' womb, "Mattie, what would you do?"

Matthew returned the lid while he had the chance, putting the half-full (half-empty?) container on Alfred's desk next to his standard sized bed, "Truthfully? I'd leave him for a few days. Maybe send him a text or leave him a voicemail practically begging for forgiveness. When he finally talked to me, I'd do something that he likes; cook him a meal, and after, put on some slow music, and dance with him." He looked to the wall, imagining doing the same to his own boyfriend, or having the same done to him. He could not help but think how the two had gotten into this situation. Matthew himself was far from a virgin, what with his boyfriends'… Healthy libido. In such a day in age… Was contraception honestly that difficult to gain? It was inexpensive, often at times free. He tried to make sense of his best friends' situation, what would have made Arthur change his mind about chastity? Surely not alcohol alone…

"Pfft," Alfred snorted at Matthew's suggestion, "Artie barely likes to acknowledge our relationship. So why would he be happy if I started to shower him with overly—cliché—romantic gestures." He sat back, leaning against the headboard, cushioning his back and head with the pillows, "Anyway, someone's been paying attention to too many movies! Not much things happen like that in real life." Matthew shook his head slightly—hoping the American did not notice—trying to resist the urge to correct him and admit that he himself loved having those done to him when his partner had messed up to an almost absurd degree, but upon remembering the father-to-be was unaware of his current dating status decided against it. Instead, he just smiled at the sight of Alfred pulling his phone out from his pocket, and looking at it intently, presumably trying to find Arthur's name.

\- - - - - - - 

_**Alfred [1:32pm]**  
Hey babe wen u wanna talk agen cum 2 mine I wanna treat u right I know how much u enjoyed prom so we can do it agen the music and dancing I mean or we can go on a date or do whatever u want I love you wen u wanna tell ur parents tell me and ill go with you xxxxxx_

\- - - - - - - 

_**Arthur [1:40pm]**  
Git, use proper grammar. I will talk to you when I am not so angry at you, or when you can tell me what I am angry at you for. Until then, just leave me alone. I need a while to figure out the baby and how we will get through. So please, Alfred, leave me alone, if just for a short while. I love you, but piss off for a little while! I am going to see someone today so I will talk MAYBE tomorrow_

\- - - - - - - 

**_Alfred [1:41pm]_**  
Artie ill help u tell ur parents swear u wont tell without me

\- - - - - - - 

**_Arthur [1:45pm]_**  
Goodbye, Alfred

\- - - - - - - 

**_Alfred [1:45pm]_**  
Don't ignore me

\- - - - - - - 

**_Arthur [1:50pm]_**  
GOODBYE


	5. Of All the Insufferable Fools

Arthur rested his head against the crook of Alfred's neck; he really did not understand how this could have been labelled as dancing, because honestly, the only thing they were really doing was holding each other close and swaying in time to the music. All the words, and all the complaints, however, were lost as he felt a complete oneness he had only ever felt when enveloped in the arms of the tall blond. He detested himself for thinking the sickeningly sweet thoughts, but under loves strong spell, it was all that passed through his mind. He hated to admit the fact that he felt rather safe and comfortable as the American's hands made themselves known at the small of his back.

It was hard to think that just a month ago he had heard that he was pregnant, and just a week since he had decided that he had calmed down enough to meet with Alfred again. He began to question why he had not done it sooner; as the slow music was heard from around the kitchen of Arthur's parents' house. "How as he been?" Alfred asked; Arthur found himself smiling. His heart sped up, and a deep part of his conscience wondered if he would ever bore of hearing the parental tone in his boyfriends' voice. Unknowingly, the two of them both could not wait for the day the baby bump would stop them from sharing tender moments like this, when Arthur would be unable to care for himself the majority of the day.

Arthur pulled away to look into the bright blue pools, "Same as usual. He's making me tired, hungry… I'm suffering with morning sickness. I've been craving weird food." He nuzzled his nose against Alfred's, knowing the man before him rather liked to eat and would more than likely at some point ask what he wanted, he continued, "I've been rather partial to hamburgers right now." He ignored the American's eyes widening in a way that some would interpret to say 'you have never seemed so attractive to me than you are right now'. Kirkland decided to ignore this, however, and put his head against a broader chest before him. "So, it's not like you to be romantic. What's the occasion?"

"Ain' I allowed to spoil ya once in a while?"

"I feel as though you are trying to convince me to accept our baby, even though it has already been done." Sensing the change of aura about the taller male, and before he could come out with any ridiculous utterances, "Can you remember the German and Italian from our English class… Ludwig and Feliciano? Well, after we had that argument I went to the bookstore to buy some pregnancy books, to help us both through this, and to help us know how to look after the little brat. When I went to buy them, I bumped into the two of them." He blushed at the humiliation he had felt at that moment, knowing that there probably was a better way around getting the books, or even just using the ones that he was sure his parents had lying about, "They saw the books I was buying, and began questioning me."

"You told them, didn't you?" Alfred asked, not knowing whether he was angry at the fact the first people that had been told about the pregnancy, he was not there to see their reactions, or receive congratulations, or whether he should be happy that Arthur was comfortable enough now with the idea of having a child that he was actually beginning to let others out of their relationship know about the addition that would make the couple into a family in just under a years' time. Maybe the next people he could tell would be their parents? He knew that his own parents would be fine with this news, but Arthur's parents… Well, he would rather not think about it.

"Well, yes," Arthur began, "I did tell them—you know I'm not good under pressure! I told them that I didn't exactly want a child, but was going to go through with it anyway; but at this point Felici- Feli was quite upset. When I asked what was wrong, Ludwig explained that the two of them would never be able to have children together; something to do with Feli never being able to take Ludwig and something's wrong with his womb. I'm not too sure, I tried to ignore the details. They've been together for as long as I can remember, even longer than us, and told me that they have been planning to have a child together since they were old enough to know about reproduction."

"And…?"

"And don't you get it?" Arthur pulled away, "I've got what some people would kill for. I've got a man who loves me, we've got a future planned out, and… We've got a baby on our way." He pulled him to the dining room table, sitting on a chair, and holding the callous hands tightly. "It's… Scary, yes. But how lucky we are! I- I love you, I keep saying it, but it's so true. And now you're doing all of this?" He cursed the hormones created by the life living inside of him as he hugged Alfred tightly, his head resting on the bottom of his stomach. "I love you both! Our child and—oh shit."

He looked to the door behind them, where there stood a medium height man; his messy hair with a mixture of red and blonde and the same green eyes as the pregnant man in the room. Alfred looked behind him, eyes widening at the sight of Arthur's parent, as his memory played out the conversation they were having. "Mr Kirkland! How long you been there?" He laughed, attempting to create a conversation; but his memory and the look on Dylan Kirkland's face betrayed the thought he had not heard the news in the most unorthodox manner. The anger apparent in the contours of the face that had brought his lover up from a baby, who had taught him the way of the world.

His thoughts were interrupted as Arthur put a hand on his shoulder, and with a sad smile, said, "I think you should go home." And with that simple sentence, Alfred felt his heart drop into his stomach; almost as if it had met with the box with the ring in sitting in the pocket of his trousers.

\- - - - - 

It had been several hours since the incident with Arthur's father, and he still had not heard from the blond haired Briton. He could only imagine what was happening just a few blocks away; the yelling and the tears? The brandishing a Bible and quoting sections of God's word? His stomach tightened with guilt at the fact that he did not even attempt to put up a fight when told to leave to allow the family to sort the problems out, then again… He looked to his right, to his bedside table and the ring box that was sitting upon it. He had had his mind on finding the courage to get down on one knee and propose, like Arthur had always been saying was his dream.

He lay on his bed, looking over the simple band, all he could have afforded with a months' worth of wages and help from his own parents. It was probably not what he always wanted and hated that fact, but it was the best he could do, and so would be happy that it was a representation of their love; of their upcoming life together, a commitment that while was not planned, they would be tied to each other for the rest of their lives. Arthur was right; it was scary and yet at the same time it was a happy achievement in some ways. A challenge, that as a hero, he was never going to deny.

The door creaked open and he heard the floorboards, he sat up at the sight of Kirkland with a suitcase behind him. A sad smile on his face, as he told, "I decided to move out. It's best for my family, and I thought you'd be able to have a more prominent role in your son's life if I was here; your mum said it was okay, so tough shit if you don't like it." He spread the thicker legs in order to sit between them. Alfred done nothing in terms to comfort; his lover did not seem exactly distressed by this development, although there was always that slight sadness after moving out of the family home for the first time. So the two of them just sat, hands over the non-existent bump, in order to protect it from the dangers of suppressed hatred of the world. The hatred of religion that they promised silently to keep their son free from, and the hatred of people they would shelter him within their ability. The only thing breaking the silence being a small, "Ah." He turned and looked to Alfred, "That's what your whole 'giving affection' was about tonight?"

Seeing Alfred's confused expressions, he nodded toward the ring that Alfred had been ogling just moments before, who in turn choked on air, and picked it up in order to quickly hide it; ignoring the fact that it was more than likely completely useless as he had already been discovered. His hand was stopped as Arthur grabbed the box to keep it still, and pulled the metal from its casing. "God Arthur! I'm sorry! It's not the right time, I promise, I'll do it properly later! I'll ask you again another day, take you on a date and—"

"Yes."

"—I'll- wait, what?"

"I'll marry you, Alfred." He smiled, and with no kiss to seal the deal, he only sat back in his previous position. Allowing his head to fall back on the soft stomach, their hands returning to their previous position. And although he had a slight feeling that the proposal was on a spur of the moment due to the baby, he could not help but think that life was slowly falling into place; albeit not at the time he was expecting it, his dream life was falling in to place. And of all the people in the world, everybody who knew the pair would have thought he was one an insufferable fool who knew not of all the possible dangers in the world.

And that was soon to change.


	6. Retribution - Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Building up to the climax of the story, and beginning of sexual acts...

Pregnancy is portrayed differently depending on the media of which you are interested.

Obviously, the books written and published with the idea of informing the soon to be parents would have a positive feel, and at the same time tell the dangers; the possibilities and ways of dying at birth, the fact that despite the living thing in the mothers body was growing, there was still a chance it would die before. They tell about the pain of childbirth and do not romanticise any aspect of the process; they tell about the tearing, the undignified acts during giving birth. On the other hand, Alfred had been brought up around the media. Movies and books the romanticised even the worst of events. True, the bonding between the unborn child and the parents to be was a feat to be marveled at, but that was little toward the dangers that pregnancy itself presented.

That was why, as Arthur lay on the hospital bed with Alfred sat next to him with a strong hold on his hand, they stared at the screen before them. The social policies had meant that science and technology had come a long way with the need to know the sex of a baby in order to find a suitable parent if the need be. This was the case now. Four read eyes stared at the screen before them, the black and white, they bid their future farewell. They had spent four months taking to the small body inside of Arthur. His middle had stretched slightly; and now they hated themselves for loving that fact as they stared at the small girl in front of them.

"Dr Edelstein," Alfred was the first to find his voice, although it was small and made him seem more vulnerable than he actually felt (although, there was a slight part of him that felt like a small child), "What do we do now? Is there anything we can do?" The doctor did not answer for a short while, seeing the tears that were running down the American's face, "Ain't there a way 'round the system? Termination? We choose who she goes to?" He traced his fingertips over the skin that was still covered with the gelatine substance that had been allowing outside intruders to see inside. "I- I just want 'er to have a good life." Despite his own thoughts, he was beginning to get worried about the fact that Arthur had not said a word since their discovery.

"It is too late to terminate the pregnancy," the doctor said, putting down the wand that he had been pressing against the small bump, and even though the screen was turned off and showed nothing but the reflection of the broken family, "There is no way around the system, I am very sorry. We will record that you are expecting a little girl, and so we will be waiting for you in five months to stay overnight while we induce your labour. Once you have given birth, we will give you a short while to say your goodbyes. You have no say in where she goes. She will be given to a female couple over the seas who are unable to have a child."

"But- that's unfair."

"It is the rules." Dr Edelstein told, putting his equipment away, "Feel free to take as long as you need to allow the news to sink in. I am sorry, again." He left the room with that, leaving the heartbroken teenagers in silence.

Alfred picked up the shirt that had been strewn across the room and gave it to Arthur, who still had not moved; the American sighed, grabbing the small hand and pulling him to sit up. That was the only time that Kirkland had moved, and only to grab his fiancé into an embrace. No tears fell, he just needed the closeness of the man he loved more than anything he had ever known before, trying to think of a life without the little baby—the little girl—that was growing inside. That was calling him home. That he had put his own parents aside for. "It's not fair, Alfie…" He whispered, receiving a hand travelling up and down his spine, "I want this for us. And… Now I'm not even given the right to give away my child, my daughter to someone I never met. I have no idea about."

"I know, sweetheart…" He pulled away, rolling the shirt slightly, before putting his head through it; his heart throbbed at the sight of the pouting bottom lip, and the green eyes that did not seem so vivid anymore focusing on the ground. Pulling the Briton's arms towards his body, he pushed the limbs through the appropriate holes before pulling it down. He smiled slightly, imagining doing this to their own child; before the image of it being himself, it was of a woman. The kind of women they read about in books and saw pictures of. He grabbed either side of the other teenagers face, and pushed their foreheads together, "Artie, listen, it's fine."

"I'm not upset," Arthur reassured, but that did not stop him from staying in that position; his legs dangling over the side of the table, allowing both of theirs to rub together; their breathing mingling with each other's in a complete silence that felt like an entirety that he had only experienced the night of prom. "I'm just mad. The state always go on about how they try to protect us. And now… The baby, even though it's a girl. It'll be one of theirs right? And now, they want to take her away from us, and maybe—just maybe—they would give her away to someone who was going to treat her badly. She's going to be better with me. She's living inside of me, I know her best. She needs to feed from me. I thought those women so long ago would stop all the bad things in the world? She's being forced to go away! That's what they wanted to stop!"

"Baby, it's okay!"

"It's not bloody 'okay'!" Arthur yelled, standing up and making his way to the door, "I'm going to give birth to it, go through—possibly!—twelve hours of pain, I'm going to push the damn thing out of my body! I'm going to fall in love with it, I'm going to love it more than you, if that's even possible! Then it's going to be torn from me! And what if we decide to try again! What if we try for a son that we never get! Spending the rest of our lives together, just wanting a little boy that we never get! How will you feel!"

Alfred's heart stopped and ached at the hurt in the mans' voice; he genuinely believed the Arthur was not upset, just infuriated the health sector and the government could say so easily that the baby would be taken away. With no remorse in their voices especially, which just added salt to their wounds. "I'm sick of this, not just the baby thing… But we're always arguing now. Ever since… Ever since we had sex. It's been constant arguing! Jesus Artie! I thought it would bring us closer! But you're blaming me for all of this! Can I remind you of something? You started it! It's your fault!"

The two stared at each other for a moment, Arthur shaking his head and biting his lip, "Alfred, this isn't about whose fault it is. It's about us losing our child in the worst possible way." He took the bigger hand in his own, and began to leave the hospital, looking and traversing the halls that they would be walking very soon with a heavily pregnant Arthur and to await the arrival of their daughter, "But you know, if you really feel so much anger, you can try and take your engagement ring back. But I wouldn't put your bets on it." He played with the plain golden band for a moment, "We are going to marry whether you like it or not, okay?"

Alfred shook his head, and smiled, despite the slight ache of anger that felt at the words, "Fine, I'm sorry. Let's just… Go back home and just try to stop thinking about this…"

\- - - - - - - 

Feliciano and Ludwig had been invited to Alfred's home when the two could not seem to start a conversation, and so they sat in the living room in a silence that seemed almost as stale (if not more) than when it was just the two of them. They were presumably still in shock from the news of the day, and while the silence dragged on into its third minute, Alfred tried to remember actually becoming friends with the Italian and the German, and only guessed that it was the mutual interest in children that made them close; the expecting Englishman and the wistful thinking Italian.

"Sorry… To- to hear that." Ludwig was the first to speak, his hand tightening around the smaller one of Feliciano, "We both are."

It seemed strange to see such a happy boy with a downtrodden expression such as the one that he had been wearing at that moment, even the curl that was on his head that usually stood seemed to be drooping slightly with the atmosphere of the room, "I've never seen this before!" The truth was he probably had not, many couples who were trying for a baby researched and tried all methods to ensure their child would be born of the correct sex—from foods, to temperature… Anything, myth or fact, they would try. It was generally couples in Alfred and Arthur's situation that had to be put through what they would in a few months. "But just think! It's sad, but you can do all you wanted now, yeah?"

It was a sick optimism that made the soon to be parents smile; a bittersweet smile, but one nonetheless. "That doesn't matter anymore," Arthur said, placing a hand on his middle, making Feliciano's heart thump in his chest dangerously once at the thought of never being able to do the same, and resisted the urge to ask if he could feel. "I got used to the idea… I knew it was a bad thing. It seemed too easy for my life. I just wish… I just wish there was some way I could hide her and keep her… Just to prove that there was something wrong with the system…"

\- - - - - - - 

It was later that night that Arthur pushed the American back on the bed, straddling the hips, before placing hands either side of the head before him which bore the face he loved so, and leant as far forward as his barely-there bump allowed. Alfred refrained from groaning out loud as he could at such a feeling, and noticing the way his jaw was clenched, Arthur let out an undignified chuckle before kissing along the strong neck; feeling the muscles inside moving, and the Adams Apple bobbing as he swallowed nervously. It was a strange sensation, he noted, feeling his boyfriend biting and sucking harshly at any flesh around that area, creating a dark mark that he was sure would remain for days after.

And although this felt strange, it felt absolutely thrilling to have such contact after four months without it; whilst normal eighteen-nearly-nineteen year olds would be spending as much time with one another before they were shipped to the higher education of their choices, they instead—involuntarily—began to ready themselves for the arrival and separation of their child. Arthur pushed the thought aside for a moment, focusing instead on freeing Alfred's torso from the constricting fabric, before making an assault on his nipples; rolling his tongue over them, biting them ever so gently and sucked. Repeating the action and drinking in the noises that he caused to spill from his mouth, before moving on to the next, repeating the method, making them harden and almost stand from the broad chest.

Alfred's hand found its resting place on the back of Arthur's head, and not knowing whether to push him further against his chest or down his body to quicken the pace the Briton to get to his destination. But he only groaned with frustration as he felt the lips against him curl into a smirk, and from that moment, he knew that every inch of his stomach and chest would be worshiped; slowly and sweetly, despite the member pressing into Arthur's shoulder; after he had been taken out of the tight jeans and boxer shorts. He moved lower, however, taking in the feeling of the muscles tensing beneath his touch. Growing a little more brave, he brought a hand down between those strong, muscular legs, and smirked at the feeling of a soft behind and the sound of Alfred telling him that no, he did not want that.

However much he wanted to search for the entrance and plunge his finger into a tight heat, he made his way to the sac as his mouth followed the trail of hair from Alfred's belly button to his crotch. Taking in his natural scent that was only slightly clinging to it, but was there nonetheless; although he was glad to be able to service his lover in such a way, he could not help but wonder exactly what he was missing just inches away from his face as he began kissing up and down the length, licking the underside and thumbing the head; a part of him was wondering what it felt like to take someone, like Alfred had claimed to be the most amazing thing ever.

And then Francis…

Arthur looked up, opening his mouth slightly to swallow his boyfriend, however, when he done so, Alfred was not looking back, and instead he stared into the deep blues of Francis Bonneyfoy. He pulled away quickly, not being able to hear the American accent asking what was wrong as he stared at the headboard of the bed. It was strange, really, for the past few months he had forgotten and had… Allowed himself the thought that it was definitely Alfred's child, and as much as he hated himself for thinking it, he was no longer going to be a parent in the sense of raising the child, and so maybe, just maybe Jones would forgive him.

"Alfred, we need to talk." Really, the words appeared before he even had the chance to stop himself.

The other teen just pushed his hips up slightly, hoping to draw attention to his burning desire to be inside that wet heat that was so close to his grasp, yet so far, "Can't we talk afterwards?" He sat up as Arthur shook his head, and turned around. Sitting on his knees, he wrapped his arms around his torso; almost pulling himself into a hug. Alfred frowned with concern, and moved nearer, "Hey, what's wrong?" And again Arthur's words escaped from his mouth before it had even consulted its owner in ensuring they were not as cold-hearted as they had appeared:

"You didn't take my virginity."


	7. Recovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> USUK 69ing (blowjob and rimming, if you want specifics), bad French accents and Alfred being racist

"So, you and Francis…?"

"No! Not like that!" Arthur closed his eyes and groaned softly, not having looked Alfred in the eye since beginning to tell the tale of that faithful night; the accented voice was not giving any clues as to how the other was feeling, and the fear of looking back and seeing anger in his eyes proved almost too much. "We had been studying for our exam together, admittedly he was drinking… He offered to walk me home. Even after I said no, he kept pushing and pushing, so I just gave in! I thought he was protecting me from this, and then." He burrowed his face into his hands, and began to cry; possibly the most legitimate sob that he had let out since that night, "I- I couldn't stop him. He's not strong but… He picked me up before I could push him away. He pushed my trousers down… My underwear. I yelled at him… Begging him to stop. He was smashing his lips against mine… I- I hesitate in calling it kissing. Not even using spit or lube or any form of preparation… He just pushed his dick in and out of me as fast as he could and—oh shit, Alfred!"

Alfred took this as a cue and kneeled behind Arthur, and wrapped his arms around the bloated middle, kissing his neck and closing his eyes; heart aching for the story and the imagination he had of the words that had emanated from Arthur. "It's okay. It's all behind ya, so don' worry 'bout it." However, despite that being the only words of comfort that Jones could come up with, Arthur curled up around the muscular arms and cried even louder. Not knowing what to say, the kisses just continued and the hug got tighter, trying to show love and affection without words. "I'm gonna sound real horrible, but… He penetrated ya first, but I made love to ya first. You lost your virginity to me. It's not a physical thing, Artie. It's a mental thing. Fuckin' and makin' love are completely differen'—"

"He made me come! And, surely that means… I- I enjoyed it, right?"

"Or it could mean that he was poundin' your prostate makin' it impossible not to feel good."

Arthur shook his head, shuddering at his body seemingly recreating the feeling, "No, Alfred, you have to let me finish. It doesn't matter who enjoyed themselves because he obviously did." It took another shaking breath, hoping that the air would provide the Briton with the courage he needed to continue; it failed, but the hand that was not his on his stomach made his breath hitch, "Alfie," using a pet name, oh God, "Don't you see what I'm trying to say? He—She… You might not be the father. I'm so sorry Alfred please I should have told you sooner but I love you and I thought if I ignored the fact I was raped it would go away and this baby would be ours and—"

"You talk too much." Alfred's voice lacked the usual enthusiasm for life, but he smiled against Arthur's skin. Wanting to let the Kirkland before him be comforted without knowing that he was genuinely upset that he might not have fathered what would become someone else's child. But still, he tried to conjure up the best words from the back of his mind; trying to think what he would have liked to hear if he was on the other side of the situation. "Artie, listen, ai'ight? Is Francis gonna be talkin' to and kissin' the bump? Is he gonna—has he—be there through mornin' sickness and whatever else ya pregnant self puts ya through? Is he gonna hold your hand and watch you ruin yourself down there for God knows how long?" He ignored sarcastic comments that were being made by Arthur and instead, leaning forward on his knees, he kissed the soft and hot cheek before him, "If it was a boy, I'd kiss him g'night. I'd teach him everything he needs to know… There's a difference between a dad and a father, Artie. And a dad is the only one that matters."

Arthur was sure it was as if the baby inside heard these words and passed a rush of affection through the umbilical cord, allowing himself to feel the little girls love for her father—dad?—however, in such a moment that had been interrupted by memories, he decided to express the love he felt in the only way possible; by once again undoing and pulling Alfred's jeans and boxer shorts down and pushing them on to the floor. He could not help himself but to look over the figure before him; never had they seen each other naked (which, considering the context was a strange thing to consider); they had seen each other topless, and had seen each other without their bottoms, but on separate occasions. It was at this point, taking in the sight of his lover smirking down his body to Arthur between his legs; not even bothering with teasing at this point, Alfred gasped as Arthur took the half-mast member in his hand, this time allowing the feeling of the flesh to be implanted in his mind. Mapping out the places that would make him buck his hips, that would make him grip the sheets, and what would overall make the member twitch and ultimately grow.

Alfred went against every instinct that he knew and pushed Arthur against the bed, being careful to avoid the little girl, pushing him into a kiss that put all of his concentration and every ounce of skill he had to make sure that the smaller teen would more than definitely forget about the Francis business. He made short work on the shirt, ignoring any complaints that he wanted him to go slowly—the ache of his throbbing cock seemed much louder than those whimpers at that moment. Wanting to replace his tongue with something much more worthwhile, he pulled away; traversing down the body before him vigorously, leaving lines of saliva, tracing the veins that kept the boy alive throughout his torso, stopping to stare in awe at the slightly swollen chest; he attempted to take in the sight, but he seemed unable to process what this meant. His boyfriend was producing milk for the offspring that he would feed only once. He hated himself for latching on and sucking, allowing the tips of his fingers to massage the newly formed breasts, wanting to know what the milk would taste like. Unfortunately—or fortunately—the only thing he got back from this action was Arthur throwing his head back and threading his fingers through the honey blonde hair and pushing harder, trying to get more of that feeling.

Alfred only played with the other nipple with his hand, tugging on his and running his hand over it gently; his index finger and thumb trying to imitate the actions the other nub was receiving with a skilled mouth. Sometimes, Arthur thought through a hazy feeling of strange pleasure, it was difficult to believe that Alfred had only ever done this with him. Was it even possible to be natural at sex? The mouth brought him out of his thoughts, as a tongue dove into his navel, which had begun to be slightly pushed out by the force of a life inside his womb. As he began to work on undoing and pulling down the trousers of his lover, he began to mark around the baby bump; a slight feeling of possessiveness overcoming him subconsciously. Even though he had tried to comfort Arthur, he knew there was a slight feeling of doubt in his words. He wanted the baby to be his; biologically and to raise it. But now he was given none of those things, the Frenchman had the rites of fatherhood, and some barren female couple across the ocean would have the privilege of seeing an adorable baby grow into an amazingly fine woman. At least for now, he could make affectionate bruises around her, making sure that everyone knew that for just these few months, she was his.

A prodding on his shoulder stopped his thought process as he managed to free Arthur's growing hardness from its confines, allowing his garments to join Alfred's on the floor. Grinning, he pulled away, falling on his back. "Ai'ight Artie. Crawl over me. But face opposite me." And with a slightly bemused expression at first, the Brit did just that. The two in the perfect positions, with their members in front of each other's face. Arthur smirked and got the hint straight away; licking the vein on the underside, kissing it all over, in short worshipping its form. It was a part of Alfred he had never explored before, and so with an eager mouth, he opened and eased it in inch by inch. He closed his eyes, moaning slightly around the intrusion, a part of him loving the feeling of being so close to him, doing such an intimate act he never would have dreamed of doing. With the way Alfred was groaning below him, he could not wait to feel the same, and so pushed his hips forward, hoping that Alfred would take a hint as he began bobbing his head up and down the length. He lay down further, wanting to get as much as he could in his mouth, and with what would not fit, he used his hand to pump in time with his movements. His tongue, not knowing particularly what to do, began brushing against the spots that would drive the boy mad each time he felt the tip brush against somewhere near the back of his throat, threatening his gag reflex to react.

Arthur almost cried out with surprise and pleasure as he felt the mouth he knew so well latch onto a testicle. It seemed as though the American's mouth sucked it in—much like he did with any of his meals—and roll it around in his mouth. The inexperience showed with both of them at the slight catch of teeth made the other hiss momentarily, before continuing where they had left off; the mutual pleasing of each other made the groans emanate from the back of their throats, and each time would send pleasant shocks down to each erection. Alfred gave each sac the same amount of attention; and when he pulled away to his Arthur's name as he let out an experimental suck, the muted teenager groaned with dismay. Alfred only smirked; pulling apart the buttocks that were keeping him from what he hoped would be the main event of the evening. He had successfully marked the two places of his body that no one else had had a chance to get to yet. Now there was only one more.

A part of him tried to talk himself out of it, but watching the entrance twitch in anticipation, he found himself unable to deny Arthur's body what it had decided he wanted. He wondered for a moment whether he did actually want this; the frantic bobbing on his length, and the tongue lapping up pre-cum had stopped. Maybe he really had no idea what was to come, and so with a smirk pushed his face against his behind, and poked his tongue against the hole. Arthur gasped in shock, clenching every muscle; feeling Alfred smirk against him. Rubbing the pale thigh, the American forced his wet muscle through the tight ring, and allowed himself to become overwhelmed with a slight feeling of disgust as to what he was doing. Whilst the feeling of the walls clenching around his tongue was like nothing he ever imagined, the thought of the act—maybe if he was looking back in spirit—was one that was able to make him cringe.

Arthur moved his head even quicker than before, hoping that Alfred was close to completion. The feeling of being penetrated by the tongue was not one that he would get used to; and unlike the actual act of love making which he knew would feel pleasurable, he could not help but feel unnerved by the sensation. To say that he was clenching his muscles to get him out would not necessarily be a lie, but he was curious to see if it would feel good. He moaned around the girth in his mouth as the tongue curled upwards. The teenager below him spreading his cheeks to get deeper than before, experimenting by poking different angles, seeing which would bring him pleasure, all the while Arthur singing a melody of desire, needing more stimulation. As if almost reading his mind, Alfred wrapped his arm around the growing waist and wrapped his fingers around the neglected member. Feeling around the tip where the clear liquid had formed, under the head and feeling around it before beginning to pump.

The pace with which Arthur was 'servicing' his fiancé was increasing, sensing that he was nearly done, trying to take him in entirely, and swallowing around it. Alfred tensed, biting back a groan so he could continue to thrust in and out of the tight heat and moving his hand frantically, wanting the other to feel complete bliss first. For that moment in time, there was just the two of them: both new and only knowing in theory how to bring their partners to orgasm orally, trying to prove their love and commitment to each other the only way their hormones would permit; and with unsure licks, and unsure movements from the two of them, it made sense that they both cried out one after the other; Arthur first, tainting the tan chest below him with white ribbons and tensing each muscle that made up his being. Alfred could not help but imagine being inside him, full sheathed when the velvet tunnel pressed against anything that had intruded. It was that final image that made him pull away with a line of spit connecting the hole and his mouth; but as he opened his mouth to praise Arthur's name as a God, it snapped, and he thrust up into the mouth that was trying its hardest to take him in fully; thus forcing him to do just that. Not quite processing the distressed sounds from the back of Arthur's throat as he came.

Despite the pain, and barely being able to breathe, he swallowed whatever was deposited, sucking him dry. When there were no sounds but the two panting, he pulled away. Turning around, still on his hands and knees, he collapsed beside Alfred. "Thanks a lot, idiot," He groaned, rubbing his neck, "Firstly, that's disgusting. Don't do that again. Second, I actually thought you were going to choke me. Don't do that again." He smiled at the feeling of his soon-to-be husband kissing his neck, apologising quietly. The two looked at one another, before Arthur scoffed and rested his head against the American's shoulder, "Not going to kiss you. I can't believe you licked me out. That's positively gruesome."

Alfred laughed, "Good to see we got your mind off everything. And just to let you know, you taste 'positively lovely'."

\- - - - - - - 

Looking back, Alfred probably had better ideas and made a mental note to against any impulse that came across his mind in his post-orgasm haze that was afterglow as he sat in Francis' living room. They never had gotten along; the only thing that they had had in common being Arthur. Bonnefoy and Kirkland would deny when asked, but the two did enjoy each other's company, never knowing whether they were 'frienemies' or actually friends. However, as he sipped his coffee, staring at the Frenchman in a rather awkward silence, he could only imagine him ignoring a frantic British accent; one that was asking him to stop. "Why did you do it." It was not a question; surely it was supposed to be, but just imagining him doing such an action made his blood boil and anger run through his body. He managed to keep calm, however, and his tone seemed nothing different, save for the lack of rising intonation that one would generally expect from an enquiry. This was shown in Francis' raised eyebrows, crossing his legs and folding his hands on his knee.

"I don't know what you are talking about."

"Don't bullshit me." Alfred glared, "You know exactly what I'm talking about. Or do I have to remind you of the night before our health exam? The week before prom? You've really fucked him up, Francis. And apparently sine you can't remember what happened you done it in more ways than one!" He placed the mug on the table that was between the two sofas, and stood; his hand was shaking in anger at this point, "You- How could you do that! Now I don't know what the fuck's going on! One of us is going to be a parent! We don't know who, and one of us is breaking Artie's heart 'cause he's gonna have it taken away!"

Francis' eyes widened with shock; his mouth hanging open, making the other participant know that he had not finished speaking, but was trying to think of a way to reply to the angry American. He leant forward in his seat, "Ah… Alfred… Je suis désolé. I- I was drinking and Arthur, he is très jolie, non?" He groaned, watching the expressions of Alfred grow more angry. "Alfred, I am not going to deny. I did, I regret, and I am confused about why you have not had me put in prison. But he is… Pregnant? And he is… Il est d'avoir ma fille?"

"Oh my God, cut the French crap! I don't speak it!" After a quick rephrasing in English, he made his way over to Francis, grabbing his collar and pulling him close; feeling a quick exhale of breath out of fear going over his face. "No! He's havin' my daughter! You got him first, but I gothim pregnant! You don't love him; he may seem like a douche, but he's too kind to go to the cops because he actually thinks you're a good person! Keep away from him, you don't deserve to see how beautiful he's gotten with pregnancy!"

"There is an equal chance of us being the father, Alf—"

Francis was knocked back down onto the piece of furniture, holding the right side of his jaw; he did not know why he was so shocked at how hard Alfred had hit him—or he could have just been that what many had dubbed as the 'friendly giant' in school had actually turned to violence—but as he looked up to see the clenched fist still in the air where the Frenchman had once been, "Don't you dare!" The American's voice cracked with the tears that were threatening to fall—whether they were from the anger of Francis' actions, what he had been through with Arthur these past few months or that Arthur's firstborn, whether he got to keep it or not, may not have been his, he was not sure. "If you were really sorry, you'd be there when he has her, you'd be there when he has to say goodbye to her. Where're you gonna be? Fuckin' drinkin' wine and eatin' cheese? Fuck you. Think you can mess up someone's life and ignore the consequences?"

"I will be at the birth if he wishes," Francis said, trying to look anywhere but at the frantic and furious expression of Alfred, "I will help through the afterbirth, all the hurt… Is that what you want? Je suis—I am sorry, Alfred." There was a momentarily silence before Francis' face lit up with realisation, and an idea was born. "You may have a chance of keeping 'er. But many 'ave tried and failed. It is dangerous for the baby and Arthur; so would you rather lose votre fille et Arthur or give 'er to a loving family and try again later?"

"What are you talking about."

"I 'ave heard of couples in your position… They run away. Of course, very few live. They either die during the birth, or something is wrong with the bébé, or… Zey eventually get caught." Francis looked to the American, watching the calculating expressions taking over his face and particularly his eyes, almost as if he was actually considering the prospect of escaping the cold eye of society; whose dark stare followed all everywhere. "Alfred, I'm saying zis is a bad idea. It will not end well. But if you choose this, then I will go with you. I suppose the more we have, the longer we can last. And… Even if you are not willing to think that this girl is mine, I would like to see 'er."

Alfred glared for a second more, before turning back around to go home. It was a bad idea, but it was all they had. And it included everything that they had wished for.

\- - - - - - - 

"You're an idiot."

Alfred knelt on the bed, continuing to push the pregnancy book from Arthur's vision, but each time he did the Brit would pull it back up. On one time in particular, he pushed it down to his thighs and leant on against it. He kissed Arthur's neck in an attempt to show complete adoration; there was no lustful meaning behind it, just letting the mother of his child know they he was absolutely smitten with him. "We can do it. I'll call over Mattie and Francis. You call over Feli and Ludwig. We can run away! We can get away and we can keep her! We can find a forest… We can live like Robin Hood!"

"I'm fifteen weeks pregnant," Arthur began, almost as if Alfred had not said anything, "You want to know some things about the baby? She's growing hair. She can grab onto things… She can suck and swallow." He leant back and rubbed his stomach; a tentative touch as if she would break if even a slight bit of pressure was applied to the patch of skin of his abdomen, "She can hear us as well. So, hey little baby. That was your daddy. You have to learn that he is a complete twat. Thinking we could outsmart the system, and thinks that I'd like to live with the man who raped me. Pretty dumb, right?"

"Artie! Just give me a yes or no! Do you want to!"

"Do I want to and will I are two different subjects, Alfred Jones." He sat up again, holding his fiancé's hand. "Of course, I would love to do this. I would love to live with you and our daughter, but… We'd get found out. I'm going to sound so superficial, but… We can try again, love. We can actually try for a son. And we can try and forget about this little girl. Maybe… Maybe in the future our bodies will stop creating girls. I mean, we adapted to even carry children." He held the back of Alfred's head and brought it down to rest in the centre of his chest, hoping that hearing the small teenagers heartbeat would soothe him, "One day, no one will have to go through all of this."

And despite his words, he knew that five weeks later, in his fourth month of pregnancy when he felt his daughter move for the first time, he would change his mind; he and Alfredgrabbed all of their clothes and as much money as they could gain, before leaving the town. Not telling anyone. Just simply upping and leaving. Disappearing from the eye of the state and their oppressing March of Progress theologies, being forced to resort back to the natural way of life; the way of life some may refer to as uncivilised.

And from behind the obscured mask of death, Marilyn Frye and Anne Oakley smiled. The poor insufferable fools.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marilyn Frye and Anne Oakley are feminists, in case anyone was confused...


	8. Heartbeats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sex and birth (when I began writing fanfiction, I never thought I would have to write those two things as warnings...)

Had they been alive just three centuries before, Arthur and Alfred would be compared to Adam and Eve; living in complete splendour, being one with nature, living in the Garden of Eden hidden behind the tress and the dirt and the animals that fed on anything they could find. Relying on only their basic instincts; all they progressed into knowing was danger, sex and food. The dangers were few and far between, and neither knew if it was due to Arthur's pregnancy and the instincts that he had gained, but the Brit was far more susceptible to be able to sense when something was coming their way that threatened how they lived.

The majority of the time, however, they enjoyed just leaning against the trunk of a tree, Arthur between Alfred's legs, and holding the ever growing bump tightly, as if the little girl would disappear if they did not. In the six months that he had been pregnant, never had the couple felt closer than when they lay on the floor, nude and pressing their forms against one another. No kissing. No words. Just taking in how the other looked, caressing each curve that made up their beings with tentative fingers, as if it was the first time touching one another. Alfred laughed at himself for thinking in clichés as he wanted to tell his fiancé that everything he felt as if he was falling in love a little bit more each time their daughter kicked against the middle.

They read the books that they had brought until they had them memorised, and in the sixth month of the nine month gestation period, they read that the baby was growing her eyebrows. When they had first seen this, Alfred could not help but laugh. When Arthur questioned what was so funny, Alfred had caressed where the head of the baby pressed against the womb, making a rather hard outline against the skin. "No wonder she's getting' so big! If she's got your eyebrows, she needs her head to be big to fit them!" His notorious laugh rang around the clearing as the soon-to-be mother closed the book and slapped him with it; holding his hands up to defend himself, Alfred chuckled, saying, "Artie, I was just jokin'! I love your eyebrows!"

Arthur hit him once more, before lying down with his lover, and putting the book down beside them. He rubbed his stomach, "As long as she doesn't have that annoying piece of hair that yours that just refuses to—oh fuck." He gripped the bottom of his stomach, squeezing his eyes shut and pushing his head back onto Alfred's chest. "Bloody false… Practice… Whatever the fuck they're called contractions." His hands were taken from where he had placed them as the bigger hands of the American held his; his body telling him to get into position, and so he slid down and opened his legs, squeezing the fingers and holding his breath.

"Babe, don't hold your breath. Breathe out."

And when the practice contractions passed, the two would sit in silence, before manoeuvring to how they were positioned before; laying on the ground, looking at one another. But this time, Alfred would always ensure that he was down by the growing stomach and admire the widened hips that he never knew would look so beautiful, and after admiring the changed form once more, he would gaze in front of him. "Little girl, that's naughty! Stop hurtin' ya mom!" The marathon of kicks would alert them to know that she had heard these words, and Arthur would look down; an uncharacteristic smile about his lips as he thought how happy he was at that moment in time, how happy he was to be there and how proud he was of his small family. "No buts young lady! Daddy's told ya t'stop, so if you carry on I'm gonna be forced to not give you hugs when you're born!"

The same kinds of conversations would always take place and day in, day out, Alfred would talk to the small piece of him growing, and as Arthur slowly progressed into his seventh month, they read and observed the changes that were taking place before them. For some reason, one that made him interested more than anything else was that she could hear everything outside now. That before, she was only responding to the touches that Alfred had made against her home; but not only that, it was the way in which the authors of the book had described the way she was hearing the world. "Think underwater"; and those words seemed to haunt him whenever he would visit their 'makeshift bathroom' (which they had only truly dubbed that due to the creek that was nearby).

One occasion in particular, he had stared at the babbling waters, and before he could think through what he was planning to do, he knelt on his hands and knees, allowed his front half to lean against the ground and put his head under water. Taking in the sound of his pulse vibrating the particles of water and creating a faux-heartbeat; he smiled, knowing that that he was recreating what his little girl had been living with for the past seven months. Through the breathlessness, he stroked his middle, trying to subconsciously tell her that he would be done soon, and she could breathe again. That was when he heard the muffled, "Arthur, what the fuck are you doing!?" His torn shirt was pulled at the back, and he fell onto his backside, but of course, in true Alfred style, although this was a question, Arthur was not exactly given the chance to answer. "God's sake, I thought we were over this!"

Arthur stared at him for a moment, "I'm not- what?! No! It's just… I read about the baby being able to hear and… It's apparently like being underwater and I… I just wanted to know what it was like." He looked down, biting his lip and feeling rather humiliated by being found and his lover for thinking that he was that unhappy about their predicament; the daughter seemed to be sapping any piece of fight that he had inside of him. He sat there for a moment, just staring at the floor, "I- I'm happy about the baby, I just wanted to know what she could hear! You're so handsome to her!"

Alfred stared at him for a moment, before kneeling down with the pale teenager, holding him against his chest, "Babe, I'm sorry!" He nearly laughed, and although he did not, there was a slight hint of playfulness about his tone, "That's so sweet! She must be eating at your bitchy attitude day by day." The two sat in silence, just listening to their collective breathing and the sound of nature going around them, and the world spinning on without them. "So I read some other stuff… You're definitely seven months along! The book said that the baby would stop kicking… And y'know, it's more've a fluttering than anything. And… She can start seeing dark and light, so—"

"Knowing her being your child, she's going to wait for it to be night before she begins kicking. Just to annoy me and keep me awake." Alfred just laughed, and kissed Arthur's cheek, ensuring that the Brit understood that if the kicking was anything to go by, she would be exactly like him. Always happy when she would see her father, loved doing nothing but sitting and talking—the activity alone making her happier than she ever thought she would be. And that when she was born, life would be good once again.

\- - - - - - - 

"Oh God. Yes, yes, yes, yes! Alfred!"

Rolling into the ninth and final month from the eighth, the safety of their child was for once placed into the back of both of their minds as lust coursed through his hormone raging body, rolling his hips and gripping onto any part of Alfred below him that his fingers could wrap themselves around. His legs barely able to keep his pregnant body bouncing on the member inside of him; the American below him was groaning louder than he ever had done. The added weight caused the muscles to close down around him tighter than he had ever experienced, and seemed as though it was constricting any blood from flowing to his member.

"Oh, baby, I hope you can feel this," Arthur managed to gasp out, before allowing a large groan to rip through his throat, his head going back as he cried out. Every dormant instinct had been awoken since they had run away, but neither knew whether it was them going back to nature, or just the pregnancy, which made their love making much more intense than it had been. Although they had tried every single position they could think of, and only two had worked; from behind (which Arthur hated due to the impersonal nature) and riding. The latter they were exercising now and Arthur would love the dominance he had over the broader and taller man, "Oh, fuck, baby it feels so good!"

"You're—ngh—callin' me baby?"

"I'm not talking to you!"

Alfred wanted to laugh, but as he looked up, he gasped and thrust upwards as the large body slid down on him. His stomach moving ever so slightly and his newly grown breasts bouncing with the dark and swollen nipples practically leaking milk; barely hearing Arthur talking to the daughter inside of him about the joys of sex, the joys of love, and ultimately the joys of life. How the daughter would be loved more than anything; the bottom of his stomach tightened, and finally full of adoration for the two lives above him, pushed himself balls deep into his fiancé and released.

Arthur slowed as he felt his lover going soft inside, "Really? Alfred, I'm not finished!" He groaned, rolling over and laying on the ground next to Jones.

"Maybe you should stop looking so sexy!" He brought a hand to the breasts and began rubbing around the nipple, trying to tease the milk to the surface, smiling at the hitching of breath from the Brit and the murmuring of how disgusting the others obsession with his newfound boobs. "I'm sorry, okay? Let me finish ya off…" He crawled between Arthur's legs, and smiled at the way the sandy blonds head seemed to disappear over the mound of skin as he lowered his head to begin kissing the tip and flicking the tip of his tongue over the slit.

Arthur just lay back and found it difficult to notice the touches and the teasing and the adoration that was put into the act. The hair on the back of his neck stood as every inch of his body screamed that there was something wrong. Some kind of danger looming nearby and very soon.

\- - - - - - - 

"I need you to come back with me."

Feliciano sat forward in his seat; slightly bemused by the Briton's absence for the past few months; the pregnant man sitting on the couch, a hand rubbing the middle of his bloated stomach, "Why?" He asked, not being able to take his mind off of what he wished he could have for himself, his very own child, his very own baby bump for him and Ludwig to fawn over, "You and Alfred are having a baby, yes? Where have you been? Nobody's seen you in four months!" He was silent, Arthur's feelings seemingly pouring out in a mess of words as he told the Italian about the rape, about making love to Alfred, about the possibility of his love not being the father, and the running away.

"And last night!" Arthur exclaimed, his words beginning to become frantic as he began to draw his tale to an end, "I don't know if I'm being paranoid, or this really did happen, but… There's someone there. They're watching me—us! They know we're trying to find a way around the system, Feli! But they're letting us think they're safe!" He threw himself forward as much as he could, and leaning his elbows on the space of his leg his baby bump did not occupy, he began sobbing into his palms; he hated himself for doing it. But in the moment of time, he was ruled by the fear of the state, the fear of losing his daughter and the fear of thinking that he and Alfred had been so foolish into thinking that society had not perfected a two hundred year law.

"How do you know?" Feliciano sat beside him, wrapping an arm around Arthur's back; rubbing his middle with the other hand for both comfort and guilty pleasure.

"I- I'm due. Any day now. I've been trying to eat, but I keep bringing it back up. My body's cleaned itself out. I'm nesting. I keep moving things around, and when I check them the next day, they're not there! The wildlife tends to stay away from where we're staying, so it's not them, and I feel as though someone's watching us… Some kind of instinct I have… to- to keep the baby safe." He turned and held onto the Italian's arms, "Feli… These stupid instincts I have nowadays never have been wrong! So… I need to ask you something. You can say no…"

"What? What is it?"

Arthur breathed deeply, watching the innocent features of Feliciano twist into a strange hybrid of fear, interest and bemusement, "I need you to come back with me. You and Ludwig. Be there for when I give birth… And take her. Take her away, and we'll come and get her if we're okay, but you need to promise me… You'll take care of her if we're not." He saw the shaking head, denial that something bad could happen, as if it was perfectly safe that they were hiding from the authorities; trying anything in their small amount of power to keep their bastard child of nature. "You can say no, and we'll keep her, and if we get caught we'll die for the right to keep her—"

"Zat is an idea." Both men looked up to see Ludwig in the doorway, watching the two share a moment of tenderness and bonding between two people whom once were strangers, but over the innocence of life, had gotten to the point where they would be able to comfort one another in such a way. "We can gather people. Mattie would fight for Alfred, Gilbert would fight because of him and I'd tell him too. There've been people talking about it… I think zis is what we need. A revolution… A March of Progress." There was another silence about the three, a concentrated expression taking over the German's expression; finally he looked up with a solemn face to the Briton. "You, Alfred and your daughter… Could be the face of the war."

\- - - - - - - 

Childbirth is never portrayed in the reality that it is.

It is romanticised into thinking that it is a smooth process; that it is full of the father and mother kissing and holding hands. They never tell of the tearing, of what else would pass in the process. They show it as almost a dignified act, and as Alfred watched Arthur, he wished he had asked his mother for advice as to what would have happened. Never did he imagine being between the Brit's legs, with the pale limbs over his shoulders; the accent that he usually loved listening to yelling at him to find out how dilated he was. Alfred's stomach was generally strong, but as he watched the dilating take place over the space of an uncountable amount of hours—although he guessed it had been twelve hours. Through the most of them, Arthur had been fine to walk around and talk, but it had only been in the past hour that Arthur had found himself immobilised by pain.

Every now and again he would grab at Alfred's hair, pull him up, ignoring the yells, and in turn shout obscenities (the American's favourite that he would laugh about later with Arthur being "how about I shove my hand so far up your arse you're forced to push it out of your throat!?"). Whimpering, he pulled Alfred down to his chest, hoping the contact would relieve the pain; they supposed from the less frequent contractions and the force of them that they were soon to be parents. "Where's Feli and Ludwig?" He asked, and when he heard no reply, he continued to yell, "Damn it, Alfred! Go get them I need them to help get this damned brat out!" The pain subsided and he pushed his legs from the broad shoulders.

"I'll go get them—"

That was when Arthur gasped and grabbed Alfred's hand, and a rush of water poured from him, wetting the ground around the couple and the legs of Alfred. "Don't you dare leave me, Alfred fucking Jones. You put this little parasite inside me, so you best be here to help me!" He breathed out, his entire body beginning to shudder slightly, holding onto any piece of the other teenager that he could—which so happened to be his arm—just to make sure that he was still awake, and to ensure that he would not be left alone. "I'm having a baby… I'm having a baby in the middle of fucking nowhere Alfred you better get me to the hospital now!"

Alfred felt a pang of hatred course through him; seemingly the only person in the clearing remembering the fact that Francis had possible fraternal responsibility, and was not there to go through the practical abuse that he was being put through. "Breathe slowly, okay? Just listen to your body." He kissed Arthur's forehead; which was covered with a thin layer of sweat, "Baby, I'm going to leave you for a little while. You won't be giving birth for a short while, but I'm gonna go fill up the bottles we brought with us with water to help you. I'll be back soon, or do you need the restroom?"

Arthur shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut and breathing out as his shuddering got worse, "I love you, thank you so much for doing this for me." They shared a quick kiss before Arthur pushed Alfred away, "Try and find Feli and Ludwig. They're going to need to be here." Another quick kiss before he lay his head back down on the ground and watched the retreating form of his lover, rubbing his stomach as he tried to calm himself down; a slight voice in the back of his mind telling him to get into a different position. It was then that he began to fear that he would give birth alone.

Meanwhile, Alfred began to see the flaw in his plan, even before he got to the creek. He had heard that drinking water during labour would reduce the pain, but as he began to hear the sound of running water, he wondered if it was even safe to drink. But when he finally got to the space, he sighed loudly with relief when he saw the well-built German and the slim Italian leaning against one another and holding hands. "You two. Get to Arthur. Now." He knelt down and began to fill the bottles with water, "If I have to have my dick and ass threatened, you have to, as well!" Turning around, he glared at the two, "Is this water safe to drink?"

"Nein." Ludwig let go of the smaller hand, trying to act as if the two had not been sharing any affection; Alfred did not pay attention to that however. He was busy focusing on being completely and utterly pissed off about not knowing how to help Arthur over his pain, and the fear of about to become a parent, albeit even for a short time. Ludwig put a hand behind him, feeling about awhile before pulling out a bottle of clear liquid, "Feli and me went and got some. Trust you to forget something like zat." He gave a sympathetic smile, the dark circles under the American's eyes showing the stress that knowing the expected arrival of the girl had stressed the father-to-be had caused.

"Can you come with me?" Alfred inquired again, picking up the bottle, "It's… Disgusting." He shuddered, wondering if he would ever get the image of seeing Arthur's entrance dilating or if his libido would ever make him want to have sex with the teenager again. When the two men got up, the three made their way to the patch of vegetation-less forest; Alfred grimaced at the sight before him. Arthur was on his knees, his lower body on the floor; usually Alfred would find such a sight undeniably arousing. The way his hole would be revealed as an invitation, but this time… It was not the small puckered entrance that he had once taken, and instead was greeted by the scene of it being ten centre meters dilated, and awaiting the child to push through to the world.

Arthur listened to his body, and as another string of pain rippled through his body, he strained all his muscles and let out an elongated moan as he pushed, but he shook his head, quietly complaining about his position being no good as he turned around onto his back, and looked up to see the three people of different nationalities. "I- I can't do it, Alfred. For Christ's sake!" As soon as the words had passed through his lips, Alfred picked up the book they had been reading non-stop since their retreat from civilisation.

Alfred grimaced again as he looked to Feliciano and Ludwig, "None of us are going to be comfortable doing this, but it's gonna help 'im a lot." He knelt beside Kirkland, and motioned to the other two to join on either side. "Right, I need you to… Ho- hold his thighs, push them back to his shoulders." He done what he said with Arthur's right leg, until he let out a yelp of pain; Ludwig and Feliciano nodded, and done what they had been told. The teen on his back's face turned a strange shade of embarrassed red and flushed with pain and concentration as Alfred made his way between his legs, after inspecting the entrance for a moment, he took a deep breath before asking, "Do… You mind putting your feet on my shoulders?" Arthur done so and clenched his jaw as he pushed; putting force on Alfred's shoulders as he pushed again.

He hated the feeling. Not just the pain that the contractions that had caused the pain, but the desperate need to push the intrusion out, and the amount of energy it took. He hated that his new friends could see him naked, in a completely vulnerable position. The weakest a man could be seen; the most intimate that only a select few who had been trained in seeing should be looking at. He felt himself being spread, writhing in pain as the urge did not leave, and Alfred looked to see if the baby was near. He shook his head pushing himself forward, and yelling at him, "Stop it you fucking wanker, she's not here yet, obviously!"

And that was how they spent the passing hours, as the sun was beginning to lower in the sky, leaving a spectrum of red, yellow and oranges in its wake, before Alfred winced and stroked the inside of the pale leg, "Artie… Baby. I can see her. Just a few more really big pushes… Really slow pushes, or you're gonna tear somethin', alright?" Arthur nodded, and he watched in an almost morbid interest as the muscles under the skin tensed, and the tell-tale signs of the internal walls straining. But he could see the red of the head, and as a deep inhale was taken from the form above him, he noticed that it was almost pulled back in.

"No!" Arthur cried, his voice cracked, "Get the fuck out!" Despite not wanting to push at all, he tried with all his might, "Alfred F. Jones, get your hands in there now and pull that little twat out now!" With the pain and frustration (of both the current situation and the overall events of the past few months), he let out a scream. Not one that would be described as a 'squeal', as one would think the verb 'scream' would connote, but rather a deep cry elongated, which went on long enough for the Briton to think that his throat would tear. He detested the feeling of the baby's head, he kind of felt disgusted at how he was being stretched, an amount of pressure that seemed to be stuck inside of him.

Push after push, he listened to his body, and allowed Feliciano and Ludwig to rub his stomach, give him a swig of water every once in a while, and once or twice spread some of the liquid over his forehead in an attempt to cool him down, giving him a shine of perspiration and the water, and it was far too late when Alfred saw the state of childbirth he knew as crowning. "Baby," he held Arthur's hand, "This is the most difficult bit. Hold my hand and squeeze , okay?" It almost broke his heart to look up to his face, seeing the light blond hair stick to his forehead, his expressions twisted and contorted into pure pain.

"No, no, Alfred. I can't do it. You do it."

Alfred pulled back, still keeping to holding the hand, and after a few moments of heavy breathing, he tensed again, initiating the talks of encouragement from the others; his body took over. The final yell of anger at the little girl before he let out a small grunt and the daughter of the Kirkland-Jones household was born. Alfred was shocked to say the least at the sight, but Feliciano was the first to begin to take care of her. He took the Swiss knife from his boyfriends pocket, and cut the cord that kept her to her mother, before working on removing the mucus from her mouth, before cleaning her with what was left of the water in the remaining bottles. Alfred looked at him, thinking about what Arthur had said about him taking care of her and… He seemed like the most natural parent.

A shrill screech broke the silence; a sound that made something deep within Jones stir, and reach his hands out to the small living creature in the Italian's arms. Then after the nine months of waiting, he finally got to hold her; practically able to fit in one arm, with his hand supporting her head. Holding her so close and just tight enough as if she were to disappear if he did not apply just the right amount of pressure, or if he were to tear his eyes away from her. New-born babies are not the pinnacle of beauty, but at that point, she was perfect for him; the way her hair mirrored his own colour (and although it was too short to tell, he could have sworn she had his notorious piece of hair known for never going down), the way the fine streaks of hair above her eyes looked as if they would grow to be thick and unmanageable.

There was no way she could have been Francis' baby.

The looks.

The unspeakable spark that was sent between the two as her screaming calmed after a few minutes and he muttered words of love and comfort and protection.

(But still the slight doubt).

A picture perfect image of the family was complete as Arthur kneeled next to him with shaking legs, only observing for a moment. Alfred barely noticed the way Ludwig gasped in shock, and Vargas rubbing his back and Arthur letting out a disgusted noise as the afterbirth fell out of him. He collapsed onto the floor, wincing slightly at the pain going through his backside up his spine. "Do… Do you mind if you give us a little while… Just us?" The other couple just nodded, cleaning up what they could quickly, before moving back to the creek, allowing the heart-breaking goodbye to take place.

All Arthur had the courage and strength to do was take her from Alfred, almost falling into a pathetic state of sobs as he held her to his chest, shivering and gasping at the strange feeling of warmth that was nursing. A natural event that he never thought he would have to do, felling the small, toothless mouth wrap its lips around his nipple and suckle. He just watched, trying to memorise the way her skin felt under the pads of his fingers, singing a song about happy endings, about kings and queens and love that he had been lulled asleep to when he was just a babe. His chest heaved, his heart feeling heavy in its bony cage, the eyes of the baby not opened, and all he wanted to do was for her to look at him. To tell him in of her wisdom of the world; that there was just mother, father and food in the world. That life was simple, fun and full of love.

How could he possibly explain to her the case of being sent to live with her 'Uncle Feliciano' and 'Uncle Ludwig'? He was sure she would forgive her, just doing this for the bettering of her life; if they got caught then… He would have one. He would have made her life and everyone else's life so much better if his friends went along with what they had planned, and if they did not get caught then he was right. There was a flaw in the system that the others would be allowed to exploit. They would grow as a family, a family—by standards over a few centuries prior—would have been normal (albeit condemned in some societies), but he could not help but feel and hear his sorrow at the fact that lawfully, she was not his.

The oneness that he felt as Alfred wrapped his arms around his small family felt completely foreign to him, a bitter sweetness that he had never felt before, that made him lose his character and rested his head against the broad chest, and the tears finally fell. The silence carried on as long as she continued feeding from him, and once she had finished, he rested her against his shoulder, and began rubbing her back. Alfred smiled, trying to get the image of him mothering the baby like it was natural to him into his memory. They both ran their hands over the small form, "I love you. So much, little girl. Just make a promise to me… Remember my name."

There was no cliché way to describe. It was simply that Arthur and Alfred had gone to get him dressed, and when they returned, the baby had gone. With a note of thanks from Feliciano, and a promise of being told that she would always remember who he was.

\- - - - - - - -

Later that night, the two fell asleep under the stars for the last time; listening to the crows yelling to the moon, imitating the wolves that howled miles away. The two new parents held each other closely, attempting to fill the void that was created by not having their child with them. The cold embraced them, holding them in their place until they could no longer moved; holding Arthur in the unconscious dreamless sleep, having no energy after having given birth and lost a child in the same day, whilst Alfred was still suffering with an overprotective father like feelings that he did not even know he had. Feelings that he was going to use to defend the unnamed little girl kept him in a strange state half way between asleep and awake.

It was that fact that made him sit up as he heard the footsteps breaking the branches and twigs that were scattered about the floor. He expected the one man looking at him under the watchful eye of a flashlight, but not a group of people surrounding them, wearing black as to make themselves blend in with the obscurity of night. He looked down to the small, sleeping figure beside him, pushing the hair out of the way, there was only one thing to say. "Can you wait until he wakes up?"


	9. Remember My Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Death

Arthur Kirkland and Alfred F. Jones stared at the metal ceiling, hoping that their daughters blue eyes were seeing a much more beautiful image. They refused to look at one another, to know that they were both upset, to know that they were both scared. They had given them time alone in order to say goodbye, but they took their time to look back on the year that had passed them. Unknowingly, the two shared the same thoughts running rampant through their minds; how stupid they were to believe that they could make a difference. How stupid they were to even listen to the Frenchman earlier in Arthur's pregnancy.

The men in the forest told them that they were arrested for a crime; an action that should not be defined as 'against the law', but instead a simple need for parents to love and to hold and to protect their children from the dangers of the world, and from the fire and brimstone her mother had experienced at the hands of a man. Maybe one day, parents would be able to birth a baby of the opposite sex, and they would be allowed to grow together. No more being forced to separate. No more being told that it was "just something that nature does"; and instead, after the torture that is childbirth, they would be handed their beautiful little girl, that looked just like Arthur and just like Alfred, being told they had a stunning baby daughter.

It was only when he felt Alfred's hand squeezing his he realised that in his reverie, he had let out a choked sob. He did not know why he was crying, just that when he looked to the blond across the tiny room, his heart dropped in his chest as he noticed that the American looked just as petrified as himself. He was blinking away the tears, smiling the best he could with shaking lips; Arthur honestly did not know whether it was his mothering instinct that had made itself known since he had reached near the end of pregnancy, but something deep within him snapped, and he forced himself to sit up. So far, nothing was keeping them down but the words barked at them to keep down and wait for officials; sitting next to the taller blonde, he pulled him close, and rested his head on his chest.

Running his hands through sunny hair, he wished he could say that everything was alright, that they would close their eyes in harmony, and when they opened, they would be at home. No pregnancy, no Francis; both still barely clinging onto their virginities as they kissed and teased and loved each other in the dullness of consciousness that was dawn. Unfortunately, the hands running over his post-birth body were very much real, not even allowing him to pretend that none of this had happened, and that life was good again. The fingers traced over the excess skin that he was never going to be given the chance to rid of; the hands running his hands down his slim sides.

The two looked at one another, their hands still feeling over whatever they could manage, and it seemed almost upon an instinct that they moved closer, pressing their lips together. They slid together, moving as one, it seemed. Arthur's tongue seeping into the cavern of Alfred's mouth; his hands moving from his hair and back of his neck, to his cheeks as he felt the jaw and the muscles working beneath the skin as they kissed. It seemed foreign to him, but something that he had been craving for the longest time; the dominance he had over the kiss was something that he adored. Although, he was brought back from his thoughts as the tears touched his hand, bringing his thumbs up to his cheekbones, he began wiping away the liquid as they touched Arthur's skin.

Alfred on the other hand was embracing the feeling of being dominated; the one aspect that he knew would give them a feel of being in a healthy relationship, just as countless other eighteen year olds around the male dominated society would be doing. He allowed his hands to slip underneath the clothing of the Briton, and did not even react when the other flinched at the harsh contrast between Alfred's cold hands and his own warm skin. They did not move, merely allowed his presence to be known all over the shorter man's body, in hope that the other would remember the feel of the pads of his fingers over the pale skin, even in death. He wished he could just see them in the future, to know whether or not he ever got tired of the wet yet rough texture of his lovers tongue against his own. Not even wrestling, nor dancing, just simply rubbing over one another as they silently said goodbye.

They pulled away, not letting the wet organs leave one another till the last moment when they could no longer reach the other, as the door opened the a small squeal, the hinges of the doors having not been lubricated for the longest of whiles. They knew what was to come, and so pushed the foreheads together, their noses practically being crushed in the progress. The men in the room enquiring if they had said their goodbyes; they ignored them and only proclaimed their love for one another a final time and pulling away, making their way to their separate beds.

They knew that "I love you" was not enough in this situation.

The authorities allowed their fingers to intertwine with each others as the men in the room prepared them for their leaving; the engagement ring that Alfred had used to promise Arthur a better life held between two clammy hands. Perspiring out of fear for their daughter, their friends, for the country and the society that they had grown used to, and whether their ultimate sacrifice would be worth it. Arthur turned his head as he felt the tonic passing through his veins, knowing that soon he would be unable to do so; a part of him wanted to watch his love pass away, just to be sure that he felt no pain, and to reassure him that this truly was going to be okay. Like the hero he always proclaimed he was.

From a society of about two hundred years ago, or so the history books tell one our faithful protagonists, a group of women once formed together to create a group: 'Feminism'; a large group of women of whom agreed the social policies subjugated women, made women worth no more than the dirt that the men owned. Every part of society from religion to the family was created for the sole purpose of keeping the fairer sex in their place. Religion would scorn them for their menstruation and pregnancy, whilst within the family; the women served very little purpose. They would stay home, supposedly happy in their expressive role. Childcare and housework, childcare and housework, day in, day out. Week after week. Month after month. Sexual gratification one of their main duties for their husbands; with only one solution.

The March of Progress promised a better life; a life without the fear of being oppressed, where every person would be equal. So long as they abided by the fact that the two sexes should not be allowed to meet then life would be good. Relationships would be equal, and there would be no subordination of any of the sexes. The social policies promised a better society. If this was the truth, if this was the case, then why is it so that our hero let out his final breath, closed his eyes, and let go of the pale hand? The perfectly plain and golden engagement band falling from his grasp and hit the ground, echoing around the room? Why was it so that Arthur Kirkland on that day was forced to lie on his side as the tonic made its way through his own veins and watch our hero leave the earth?

He tried to force his muscles to work, alas, they refused to do so. His legs refused to run to him, his arms refused to pull him into an embrace to coerce him away from the devils wearing an angel's mask, his jaw refused to move to allow his vocal chords to create a cry of his name. To make himself wake up from this nightmare, and find himself in a mixed sex society, with the little girl on his chest, and Alfred lying beside him. Where they would walk with the German and the Italian with their own child that they would have been able to create without the need of science. The sun would beat down on them all, gracing them with their warmth, and they would be the picture perfect example of a happy family.

His eyelids grew heavy, and with a silent prayer for the broken world, and for his daughter, the shining star, his hand fell, and he left on his journey with Alfred; distantly, from the back of his mind, he remembers the words told so long ago, and cannot help but tell them to himself as he began to feel lighter: "And so we go into freedom, and not into banishment".

\- - - - - - -

Five Years Later

"Papa!"

The little girl ran up to Francis Bonnefoy, her blonde hair flowing with the wind that was scarcely there; he knelt down and pulled her into a tight embrace, the relief flowing through his fingertips as he caressed the blonde hair, and allowed the piece of hair that would never stay down to tickle the side of his face as he murmured words of victory; the shortened version of the story the bags under his eyes told. He wished to take her back home; to wash her of the dirt and the blood that he placed on her just by holding her in such a way.

The battle was fought; the March of Progress undone and moved forward, the governments forced to ignore what the feminists had once said after years of bloodshed. And as he looked to the women who were looking about the island nation bemused; the first time in generations the two sexes had mixed. He would not allow the small girls parents to practically sacrifice themselves in vain. With the anger of family and friends, fuelled with others who before them had talked of the revolution, they had started the violent war which tore the world apart. Never had they expected it to be friendly, to be a calm battle, but his fellow soldiers behind him returned home, never had they been so happy to see their home.

Gilbert and Matthew had been separated during the battle, and were muttering sweet nothings to one another; holding each other close and tightly as if they would cease to exist if their grip even faltered for a moment, meanwhile Ludwig and Feliciano… They looked to the Frenchman with a sad smile, his arms still crossed around the small girls back. The small girl who had stood for everything that they had fought for, that they had even killed for. The little girl that stood for freedom—for liberty —contained so much hatred within her unknowing eyes, who had taken more lives than she could count before her life had even began.

Maybe it was best that Francis was carrying out Arthur Kirkland's wishes.

Maybe one day, Liberta Kirkland-Jones would learn the truth about her heritage, and maybe one day, she would learn her own feelings toward her name.

\- - - - - - - 

End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Liberta—"liberty" (I think. Don't correct me if I'm wrong).  
> Retribution—A sociologist once said there are two types of punishment, what we have nowadays and retribution. Retribution was in traditional, less developed societies (think Medieval), where you'd be punished harshly for stupid things (for example, having your hand cut off for stealing an apple). This is idea is where the title came from.


End file.
